


Off the Deep End

by MarshOnTheMellow



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Drowning, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Healthy Relationships, Historical Inaccuracy, I will update the tags as I write, Injuries of varying severity, M/M, Merman!AU, Older!Dipper, Pirate!AU, Rating May Change, hinted ptsd, minor animal death, siren!au, siren!bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshOnTheMellow/pseuds/MarshOnTheMellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It was at the beginning of summer 1732 however, that Captain Pines overheard the Tent of Telepathy's deck cadet rant about lost treasure in Mindscape Bay. The boy talked and talked and honestly, Pines had long since tuned him out – lost treasure, yeah right! But when he heard the word 'siren' being spoken, he immediately perked up. When pressed, the boy, a snot-nosed little brat in Stan's humble opinion, started to wax a grand tale about beautiful mermaids, gold beyond imagination and close calls with death. The Captain promptly told him to shut up. He walked out of the inn that night with a new expedition in mind and a smile on his face.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>AKA the merman!AU nobody asked for, wherein Bill is a siren, everybody else is a pirate and Dipper is somehow (maybe) magical.</p><p>[[INCOMPLETE AND ABANDONED. SUMMARY OF PLANNED ENDING + SEQUEL IN LAST CHAPTER FOR CLOSURE]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

The Mystery Shack was a beautiful ship. Once a merchant vessel, it became a pirate frigate after the infamous Mystery Trio Pirates commandeered it more than thirty years ago. Since then, the ship has sailed the entirety of the Caribbean Sea round and round again, boarding and looting from both merchant ships and Her Majesty's own Navy.

The Shack had a constantly rotating crew, with the exception of its five core members: Captain Stanley Pines, first mate Jesus "Soos" Ramirez, second mate Wendy Corduroy, and deck cadets Mabel and Dipper Pines, the captain's niblings. Rumour had it, one third of the now disbanded Mystery Trio went mad, whilst the other mysteriously disappeared, his ship and journals the only heritage he left. Thus began the Captain's life long search for his brother.

Of the permanent crew, the first mate also doubled as boatswain, the second mate as third mate, and the two deck cadets as ordinary seamen. However, these extra skills rarely had to be put to use, what with the Mystery Shack always attracting a wide range of volunteer crewmen. Some stayed longer than others, whilst some ran away screaming the moment they docked. Nobody seemed to believe them when they spoke of ghosts and monsters at the local tavern...

It was at the beginning of summer 1732 however, that Captain Pines overheard the Tent of Telepathy's deck cadet rant about lost treasure in Mindscape Bay. The boy talked and talked and honestly, Pines had long since tuned him out – lost treasure, yeah right! But when he heard the word 'siren' being spoken, he immediately perked up. When pressed, the boy, a snot-nosed little brat in Stan's humble opinion, started to wax a grand tale about beautiful mermaids, gold beyond imagination and close calls with death. The Captain promptly told him to shut up. He walked out of the inn that night with a new expedition in mind and a smile on his face.

* * *

Sometimes, Dipper really wondered what was going on through his great uncle's head. Embarking on a practically suicidal journey for gold to last a lifetime, he could understand, but embarking on a practically suicidal journey _because_ it was suicidal, he just couldn't fathom. Especially when the danger aspect of it was, probably, just a rumour started by a half-drunk sixteen year old boy.

Sailors were a superstitious lot, he knew that, and if you had ever manned for the Mystery Shack, you were justified in your beliefs. Just last week, they had to fight off a pod of Encantados, shapeshifting trickster dolphins (one had managed to seduce Mabel, but they had figured it out just in time to prevent it from turning her into one of their own). But for some reason, the prospect of being serenaded into an early watery grave did not seem to faze Grunkle Stan, though it definitely bothered the rest of the crew.

Dipper sat on a crate, munching on an apple and watching the new crew board the ship. There weren't as many as usual, but that was to be expected. Wendy was overseeing the new arrivals next to him, standing tall, arms crossed, looking every bit of the intimidating swordswoman she really was. She had her cutlass hanging from her left hip, and a hatchet, her signature weapon, from her right. Dipper was just glad she was on their side.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around. Mabel smiled with all her teeth, eyes alight and excitedly pointing at one of the new members loading provision crates on the deck.

“He’s really, _really_ cute!” she said, jumping up and down.

Dipper smiled fondly at his sister. They were nineteen now, trained in the finer ways of piracy since they were twelve, yet Mabel had somehow retained part of her childhood innocence. She had kept her heart of gold amongst all the carnage, and Dipper admired her all the more for it. Oh, she was still horrifyingly bad at flirting, but that didn’t stop her from trying, never had and never will.

“Why don’t you go talk to him?” he suggested. Mabel gasped, then grinned.

“You know what? I think I will.” That said, she straightened, set her expression in deep determination, and marched towards the young man. Her cotton dressed swished as she made her way across the dock, swinging her arms in a mock military parade, fists curled and head held high.

Wendy cheered beside Dipper. “Get him, tiger!”

Dipper watched as his sister mildly terrified the man. Something about liking potatoes, he thought he heard. He didn’t pay much attention, opting instead to carefully scrutinize the boy’s behavior. Logically, he knew that the chances of him being an evil supernatural creature were extremely low, but it had happened before, and the last thing they wanted was a repeat of the Norman incident.

After careful consideration, Dipper deemed him normal enough, nice even. He laughed at her jokes, and smiled accordingly, so at least Dipper knew this new crew wasn’t going to be an entire pain in the ass to bear. It was always a gamble, and they got stuck with assholes enough times for Dipper to be able to recognize one when he saw one.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Dipper turned around, so did Wendy, and both questioningly stared at their newly arrived Captain.

“I got an errand for ya, kid,” he said, “Get to the market and find some earplugs for us, aye?”

Dipper nodded as he jumped off the crate. He flashed them both a grin before running down the dock. Grunkle Stan didn’t even bother to reach for his purse; an errand for Dipper wasn’t really an errand honestly, more of an anonymous loan for an indefinite amount of time (i.e. forever).

He strode down the road, enjoying the morning’s breeze and smells, careful to not jostle anyone as he made his way to the markets. Seven years of training and observation might’ve given the twins basic pirate skills, but each developed their own specialties out of their strengths. Mabel became a sharpshooter, and favored a small harpoon pistol contraption she looted from a cargo ship once. She was also the Mystery Shack’s tailor in a way; she knitted in her spare time and mended the crew’s torn clothing.

Dipper, on the other hand, was their thief, part-time navigator, and unofficial monster hunter. He knew how to make himself small and unremarkable. Although it was easier for him to slink off in an alley and dart his way back to the ship when he was younger, being smaller and all that, he nonetheless adapted as he grew and used his newfound height to ooze confidence. As such, he didn’t seem suspicious at all when he’d simply take an apple or loaf of bread while the owner was looking the other way. People just assumed it was normal because it _looked_ like it was normal.

He waded through the masses of the market, letting the merchants’ yells, the white noise of the crowd and the distant crash of waves on rocks wash over him. He peered around, searching for wax earplugs, and maybe even a treat to share with Mabel.

He spotted a quiet stall next to a bakery, filled with what seemed various knickknacks of the supernatural kind. Curiosity piqued, he approached the stand and saw that, indeed, that _was_ the amulet sketched in Journal 2. He looked up, and smiled to the old man sitting on the other side of the counter. His eyes were wide, wild, and slightly crossed, while his nose was big, red, that of a drunkard’s. He sported an extremely long beard and a tattered brown hat. How a wreck like him came into possession of actual _real_ magical objects, Dipper couldn’t fathom. He was instantly on his guard.

“Wha’ can I do fo’ ya?” he asked, voice surprisingly shrill. Dipper smiled pleasantly.

“My crew and I are planning on going to Mindscape Bay. You wouldn’t have wax earplugs would you?” he asked.

The old man frowned.

Dipper did too.

“Mindscape Bay? You’re not planning on visiting them sirens do ya?”

“Well as a matter of fact...”

The old man’s frown deepened, and the corners of his mouth turned down. Then suddenly, his face cleared in an expression of complete vacancy. Dipper decided the man was most definitely mad.

“I got exactly what you need!” he rummaged under the counter and produced two burlap pouches. “Fifty earplugs, right here!” he shoved them towards Dipper, who scrambled to grab them. “Free of charge! Tell Stan he’s an idiot and he’s heading to his death! Shop’s closed, goodbye!”

“What the f... _Wait!_ You know Grunkle Sta--?” but the old man had already jumped (yes, jumped) into the crowd, leaving Dipper slack-jawed and confused and completely at a loss at what just happened.

The whole exchange didn’t even take more than two minutes.

After some deliberation, he snatched up the mystic amulet, intending to study it later in the company of his grandfather’s journals.

He was so lost in thought, rehashing the previous events in his head over and over again, that he failed to notice the frankly outlandish kid barreling towards him.

“ _You!_ ” the boy cried as he shoved Dipper into an empty alley, “I saw you with Stan Pines!” He shook Dipper by the lapels of his jacket, making him drop the amulet onto the ground. This did not go unnoticed by his attacker. “What’s this?” he stopped, loosening his hold on Dipper, blinking down to the piece of jewelry.

Dipper took a step back as his ambusher bent down to pick up the object, blinking away his dizziness and just giving up on having a normal morning. As he regained his senses, he panicked when he saw the boy gazing in wonder at the amulet in his hands.

“T-that’s nothing!” he swiped at it, trying to get it back, but the kid moved his arm away. “J-just an old piece of junk really!” he laughed nervously.

His attacker narrowed his eyes at him. “If it’s nothing, why are you so desperate to get it back?”

Dipper wracked his brain to find a convincing lie. “SENTIMENTAL VALUE! Um... I mean, yeah, sentimental value. Now please give it back...”

_Nailed it._

The kid, an albino Dipper belatedly noticed, glanced to and from his hand and the amulet. He then pocketed it. “I don’t believe you.”

_Shit._

“Come on, man! It was my mother’s and it’s all I have to remember her by!” _Please God, let it work._

“I don’t think so, _pal_. Finders keepers.”

 _Dammit_.

“Why can’t people just be decent from time to time...” Dipper muttered. He squinted, focused, and tackled the boy to the ground.

They scuffled for a bit. Dipper managed to scratch the others cheek, but got a punch to the eye in return. They rolled around, fists flying, got kicked in the gut a few times, and Dipper somehow found himself on top of the boy with a black-eye and split lip. The albino kicked out, hitting Dipper’s leg and making his ankle twist in a painful way. Dipper yelped. The amulet went flying across the alley while he got shoved off and slammed into the nearby wall. His attacker scrambled to get up as Dipper struggled to ease air back into his lungs, and the kid once again grabbed the amulet. This time however, he ran away.

“Tell _Stan Pines_ that he’ll get the treasure over my dead body!” he spat, before turning tail and leaving Dipper to pick himself up.

He stayed there in the alleyway, panting for air and groaning as he felt along his left eye. No way was he going to be able to cover that up. At least the madman didn’t take the earplugs too.

He slowly stood back up, and wobbled out of the alley. Pain shot up his leg, and he cursed. His ankle was swollen and hurt like hell, but at least it didn’t seem broken. He looked around, and found a small wooden stick resting on the ground. He figured it was a child’s, but since there weren’t any nearby playing, he counted his blessings and picked it up. The rest of his trek back to the Mystery Shack went blessedly uneventful. Thank God for small mercies.

When he arrived, the crew was still loading provisions onto the ship while Wendy and Mabel were both overseeing the proceedings, conversing with each other without a care in the world. When they saw him approach, they smiled excitedly, but when they got a clearer look at him, noticing his limp more specifically, their expressions instantly morphed into one of fear and concern.

It warmed Dipper’s heart in a way.

Mabel ran to him, shouting his name, whilst Wendy jumped and climbed onto the ship, probably to go tell Grunkle Stan.

“DIPPER! Oh my god, Dipper! What happened?!” Mabel fretted, cupping his face and turning it around so she could take a closer look.

“Ish nof’in’” he said through his squeezed cheeks.

“That doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me, matey.” Soos appeared behind Mabel. “Your eye looks like a rotten potato.”

“Shanks Thooth,” deadpanned Dipper.

The first man chuckled. “No problem, mate.”

Mabel poked at his eye and Dipper made a pained noise, which Mabel returned in equal measure. “Come on, Dip-dop,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the ship. “We got a doctor on board this time. Let’s get you checked out.”

“Seriously, Mabel,” he complained. ”I’m fine. We’ve both been in worse fights.”

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head. “Not having it, bro-bro. Getting hurt at sea is one thing, but getting hurt before we even _set sail_ is another completely,” she glanced at his makeshift cane. “Guess you’ll just have to _stick it out_ ,” she grinned.

Dipper groaned, whether because of the pun or the pain, he didn’t bother to check.

Both Soos and Mabel helped him onboard. The former sat him down on a barrel while the latter went to fetch the doctor. He was just on the other side of the deck, and judging from the look of mild surprise his face took on while Mabel explained things to him, he definitely did not expect a patient so soon. They both made their way back to him just as Grunkle Stan stormed out of the Captain’s cabin, followed by Wendy.

“What the hell happened out there, kid?!” he yelled.

“Um...” Dipper said, sheepish. “Well I got the earplugs! No worries there!”

“Not what I was asking, kiddo. Who the hell beat you up like this?”

“Oh, well I don’t know his name. He’s an albino, though, and kinda fat now that I’m thinking about it. Younger than me for sure.”

“Was he wearing light blue?”

“Uh...” Dipper tried to remember. “...Yeah! I think so. How’d you know?”

The older man grimaced.

“ _Gideon..._ ” his voice dripped of disdain and contempt. “He’s the brat that told me all about Mindscape Bay. He’s from the Tent of Telepathy, you know, the one with that ridiculous star flag and always dresses in light blue? These guys have been nothing but trouble,” he muttered.

“What did he want with you, anyway?” asked Mabel.

“Ah... He doesn’t want us anywhere near the treasure; says it’s his.” Dipper grimaced, stifling a yelp of pain. The doctor stopped poking at his ribs and continued on with his examination.

Grunkle Stan _pffted_. “You’ve got to be an idiot to believe in lost treasure! Kid must have seaweed for a brain. We’ll just deal with him later. You rest up. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“Hey, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper said as the Captain was leaving. He turned back.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Why are we going to the Bay if you don’t think there’s treasure?”

The old man smiled. “I’ll tell you later.”

And that was that.

▲▼▲

They left at noon, with twenty sailors total and enough food and water for half a year. Better safe than sorry, Wendy said. They spent the next two weeks getting acquainted with the crew, or at least, Mabel did. Dipper simply stayed in his cot, healing up and reading his other grunkle's journals. When they were placed under the guard of their still-accounted-for great uncle, Dipper had tripped on a pile of them while waiting for his new custodian in his cabin. Curious, he grabbed them, and hid the books under his pillow. Grunkle Stan surely knew Dipper had them, and Dipper knew he knew, but both kept quiet about it and went on with their lives. It suited Dipper just fine.

He kept on revisiting the journal's entry on sirens. It had the cursory description of appearance, abilities, habitats, etc. along with 'DANGER - AVOID AT ALL COSTS' inked in large, bolded letters. Dipper shook his head and sighed, again, for the hundredth time since the beginning of this expedition, seriously re-evaluating the sanity of his Captain. He read:

_“... tales in various port towns depict a siren’s kiss to be able to give a sailor the ability to breathe underwater, as well as talk and understand marine wildlife. However, nobody has actually ever been kissed, so the point is moot.”_

On the next page:

_“... whilst a siren’s song lures sailors to their deaths, rumour has it that it is possible to avoid the effect of their voices by plugging one’s ears. I have never encountered a siren, so I cannot confirm this, but by all logic, it makes sense.”_

There were no listed weaknesses.

Dipper swept his fingers across the wax earplugs in his pocket. He always kept two pairs on his person, for he and Mabel, and stored the rest under his pillow, to give out to the crew when they would approach Mindscape Bay. There was a risk the plugs wouldn’t work, and that made him nervous. Extremely so. He reassured himself, both Grunkle and Grandpa Stan knew what they were doing.

Right?

He chased his doubts away; it was too late now. He closed his eyes and waited for the call of land ahoy.

▲▼▲

They arrived at night. The water was still and the moonlight illuminated the cove. From what they could see, the beach was curved like a crescent, and slowly turned into jagged rocks along the tips. A few yards away from the shore, the beach gave place to a dense tropical forest, too dark to see into. The cove itself was too small, and probably too shallow, for the Mystery Shack to enter. So they anchored near the entrance, and lowered the rowboats.

As the scouting party climbed down to the boats, Dipper handed them their way of defense. They looked at him oddly for a few seconds, but then understanding bloomed on their faces and they smiled in gratitude. He watched them go into the night, all the while gripping the edge of the boat and nervously scrutinizing the calm water around him. He felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned around and came face to face with his sister.

“Dipper, I’m scared...” Mabel looked at him with wide, worried eyes, the lantern lights making her look like she was twelve again. He took her hand in his own.

“Me too,” he said, mirroring her expression.

They kept an ear out, but heard nothing. Half-an-hour later, the scouting party returned, all members accounted for, and they stated the way was clear. The whole ship let out a collective sigh of relief. Sirens were just myths after all. Maybe. Probably.

They left three members to guard the ship for the night, and rowed to shore. The Pines embarked together, whilst Soos and Wendy went on ahead. It was extremely dark, the lanterns and moon the only sources of light, so they went slowly. The gentle waves rocked the boat back and forth, and everything was utterly silent, not even the sound of crickets could be heard.

Both twins rowed and rowed. Dipper focused on his task, anything to keep his mind off the very possible risk of death. He kept his breath rhythmic with his movements, and told himself the sweat on his forehead was because of his labour, and definitely not because he could feel eyes on him. He refused to glance away from the back of the boat, eyebrows set in a deep frown of concentration (not anxiety, no sir), and he ignored the twisted feeling deep in his gut. He hadn’t been able to eat this morning; too nervous he thought he’d throw up, so that must’ve been why. Of course it was!

They were half-way through when they heard a splash.

Dipper stopped breathing.

_Fuck._

Both he and Mabel stilled. They stared at each other, then in the general direction of the sound to their right. They watched as one of the OSs in Wendy’s boat swore up and down he saw a giant fish tail. The mood rapidly plummeted after that. Many started muttering under their breaths, fiddling with their earplugs, scanning, skitterish, the water around them. Dipper gulped audibly, and glanced down at his sweaty palm. He tried to wipe them off on his jacket.

Another splash resounded to their left, and Dipper scrambled to see. Yes, that was definitely a fish tail. A _really_ big one. He started to hyperventilate, and could barely breathe at the same time. He sat back down next to Mabel, and reached for her hand, squeezing it in an iron grip. She held his gaze; her eyes set in a deep frown, worried and scared. Dipper tried for a reassuring smile. Judging from his sister's lack of reaction, he failed miserably. He turned back around.

He froze, eyes bulging out.

Leaning on the edge of the boat, arms crossed but lax, head resting on the gunwale and a pleasant smile on his face, was the most beautiful man ( _siren_ , his mind corrected) Dipper had ever seen.

He couldn’t help it; he screamed.

Belatedly, he realized he wasn't the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill in the next chapter, don't worry! This will be (hopefully) (don't take my word for it) updated every week!
> 
> Also, this is my first ever fanfic (yaaaaay!!!) so feel free to point out any mistakes! Or if you have any tips on how to make my writing less awkward, it'd be appreciated, thanks!
> 
> And yes, Dipper owns all three journals AND knows who the author is, since I figured that after he disappeared, Stanley's work would have stayed on the Mystery Shack and kept in pristine condition by Stanley. Dipper's a smart boy, so whether he connected the dots or Grunkle Stan told him, it's up to you.


	2. Overture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may want to listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqTQYGUhz_Y) before reading the fic!! (all you need is about the first minute to get a good imagery)

The siren just kept on smiling at him.

Dipper screamed and screamed and he even tried to kick it in the face, but when he lifted his leg, it pushed itself off the boat and into the water, still grinning and laughing. He froze, stunned. Legends weren’t kidding when they said a siren’s voice was the most beautiful sound in the world; just its laugh sounded like crystal wind chimes in a spring’s breeze. All his senses zeroed in on the creature, and he felt himself calm down and relax, his breath slowly evening out as he lowered his foot.

The siren was peering up at him with gracefully slanted eyes, both somehow glowing gold and blue in the moonlight, framed by extremely long and dark eyelashes. They were curious, full of mirth, with just a hint of mischief thrown into the mix, wild and playful.

Dipper was mesmerized.

Its whole being reminded him of the sun. Its skin was tanned golden, flawless and glistening with droplets of seawater, and its shiny blond hair drooped into wet curls and stuck to its forehead, though Dipper spotted a few tuffs of black near the back. Its body was lithe, all narrow shoulders and angular limbs, but its muscles were obviously taut with painstakingly restrained energy. Dipper couldn’t see anything below the waist, but the siren already painted a wild, dangerous and oh so _tantalizing_ picture, with its grinning pearly white teeth and the eye-patch tied around its neck, though his fogged mind did not register the sharp fangs.

It felt warm, and safe, much like a peaceful summer’s day.

Dipper couldn’t tear his eyes away, nor did he really want to. Remotely, he thought that maybe he should do something, move away perhaps, but his body tilted towards the creature instead. He leaned over the edge of the boat as the siren swam its way back towards him, gently cupping his face and gazing up at him with adoring eyes. Dipper’s heart stuttered in his chest.

It started to sing and _god,_ that voice.

 _You're a tough little tadpole to love,_ it began.  
_Naughty lilies and lures_  
_Oh, I was knocked to the floor_

It slid its hands to the back of Dipper’s head and nape, gently caressing and massaging his scalp. Dipper shuddered as the action sent tingles up his spine.

 _ Never tasted as sweet  _  
_ A poison as you have _  
_ You're an urge that can never be cured _

It pecked him on the cheek, and Dipper sharply inhaled, eyes wide and disbelieving. He blushed a deep red and gripped the gunwale tightly, knuckles white.

_You're a bad little love  
And I'm yours_

It gently nudged at his hands, loosening his hold on the boat and leading him towards the water. Dipper followed. The siren smiled at his docility and Dipper’s heart sped up dramatically. He did that. He made it _smile._ Dazed but delighted, he beamed back in return. It continued to sing.

_So trust me, trust me  
Darling dear_

Dipper’s whole upper body was leaning out of the boat by then. He did not hear the sailor in the next rowboat scream, struggle and drown.

 _I'm so sincere_  
_There's no need to tear_  
_Trust me, trust me_  
_Honey, do_

They were in the water.

_Just like I trust you._

The lyrics were garbled underwater, rendering the siren’s voice devoid of all its charm. Dipper snapped out of it just as the beast’s face contorted itself into a nightmarish snarl. Its eyes sunk in and became bloodshot, while its lips turned blue, its teeth sharpened, and its mouth opened just past the point of human normalcy.

_Holy fuck._

He screamed and struggled against the tight hold the siren had on his neck. That was a mistake. The air in his body left in a burst of bubbles and he tasted the salt water as it filled his lungs. _The earplugs didn’t work,_ he thought. _THE EARPLUGS DIDN’T WORK! Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod!_ _Why didn’t they work?! I can’t get out! How the hell is it so strong?! Shit. Shit. Shitfuckshit. Fuck it burns! I need to get out! It’s gonna rip my face off and eat me and I’m never gonna see Mabel again and OH GOD MABEL! FUCK!_

He scratched at the creature’s hands and arms; he wriggled and snapped his head left and right, trying to wrench himself free. He needed out.

He needed air.

He opened his eyes in a fit of desperation, his oxygen-deprived mind attempting to inspire compassion in the sea creature’s heart. Maybe it’d let him go if he did. Later, he’d realize how stupid he had been. A siren was a monster, and monsters had no such thing as _empathy._ What he saw then though, he did not expect.

The siren’s face was back to normal, or what Dipper assumed was normal, but its forehead was creased in a confused frown and its mouth twisted in a grimace. He saw fear flicker through its eyes, _true_ fear, in the likes of terror and horror, followed by a series of even more human emotions too fast for Dipper to identify. Suddenly, he was out of the water, and his chest heaved. The siren had pushed him away.

He did not wait to recover, nor did he check if the creature was really gone. He scrambled back on steady feet and launched himself towards his sister. She was half-leaning out of the boat, slowly being dragged down by a blue siren, just like him a few seconds ago.

He almost panicked. Almost.

He had to get her out of there, to make her snap out of it and have her as far away from this nightmare cove as possible. He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled. It didn’t work. The blue siren held tight, and it snarled at Dipper.

He heard Mabel gasp, the creature tugged her down, and she went overboard.

“ _MABEL!_ ”

He _did_ panic then.

He had one foot on the gunwale, legs bent and about to jump, his arms extended in front of him in a point. _No, no, no, no, NO!_ Not Mabel. Of all people _not Mabel._ Dipper was just about to dive in when a piercing shriek echoed through the cove.

He flinched back, covering his ears. Although the earplugs probably helped, the screech was shrill and long and sounded like it came straight from Hell, like nails on chalkboard but ten times louder. He was sure his ear-drums were going to burst.

Pain rattled through his skull, and he groaned, ducking down in reflex. _God, make it stop._ He couldn’t think straight. The shrieking wasn’t dimming down anytime soon, so he pressed his palms even harder against his ears, though it wasn’t muffling it one bit. The screeching was slowing him down, and his brain felt like it was working through molasses. He couldn’t focus on anything else but _making it stop._ However, one clear notion pierced through his muddled mind, clearing away some of the pain. He still had to get his sister back. He stepped towards the edge of the boat again, but he, unbalanced, fell down on his ass as the boat was jostled.

He opened one eye, to see what the hell was going on, and both went wide as he saw the siren, the golden one, screaming its lungs out, whipping its head around and hunched over like a feral predator. It was floating in the middle of the cove, and for a second, Dipper feared a fate worse than drowning. But then he realized, the siren wasn’t screaming at the sailors. It was screaming at its brethren.

The other sirens were shrieking too as they flopped back into the water, and swam as fast and as far away as they could from their yellow counterpart. Said counterpart stopped screaming and also dove back in.

Some tried to take their prey along with them before fleeing, but just as they were about to succeed, Dipper saw a faint outline of a golden tail torpedo towards them, and just as soon the howling creatures were dragged down under in a resounding splash.

Dipper’s boat was jostled once again as sirens swam under it. He scrambled away as one pushed itself out of the water and reached for him, snarling and hissing. Suddenly, the butt of a pistol collided with the side of its head, and it fell back into the ocean. Dipper glanced up and up at his Grunkle. His shirt and hair were soaked, and he was panting for breath, all the while brandishing his gun, but otherwise he seemed fine, if not furious. His eyes rested on Dipper, and relief flashed through his face, before his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Where’s Mabel?” He sounded panicked.

Dipper just stared back at him in horror.

The boat tipped again, but this time by a siren that practically draped itself across it in a desperate attempt to get away. It flailed around, tail smacking Grunkle Stan in the face and upper body pressing Dipper against the floor of the boat. Its skin was wet, slimy, gross, and Dipper was completely soaked from the neck down now as water dripped from its scrambling form. He got the wind knocked out of him as its full weight, in all its half-fish half-human muscle and fat glory, crushed him against the bottom of the boat. In its rush, it scratched Dipper across the cheek, three small red lines, though he barely noticed. As it managed to flop back into the water, it also overturned the craft.

Dipper struggled to not repeat the same mistake again and scream, when dozens of sirens swam by him at tremendous speeds. Even underwater, he could hear them shriek, though it was slightly muted. He was shoved side to side, unable to move and swim back to the surface. They passed, completely ignoring him, in favour of getting away.

He, however, could not help but expel all the air out of him as another creature charged him, this one with its eyes fixed on him and with definite intent to kill. Its face was morphed like a ghoul’s, and Dipper knew that that face was going to be the theme of his nightmares for the next few months.                                          

If, of course, he _survived_ to live the next few months.

He was trapped. Fully and perfectly trapped. He doubled his efforts in trying to get way, because _holy hell_ that thing was going to _eat him,_ but the moment he’d stick his arms out, they were ruthlessly knocked out of the way by an escaping siren. He felt a hand wrap around his ankle then, and suddenly he was being tugged down, out of the feral monster’s reach. Instead, he found himself in the arms of a completely different creature, one he already knew well.

Both sea monsters stared each other down. The silver siren clicked, hunched over but hesitating. The golden one hissed in response, tightening his hold on the human, and the other backed off, although it didn’t look too happy about it. All the while, Dipper’s lungs were burning as he slowly ran out of oxygen. He started to blackout, and he weakly tried to pry off the sirens arms off of him. It didn’t work. As his eyes slowly drooped to a close and his vision went entirely black, his last thought was hoping Mabel was all right...

He lost track of the next few minutes. He remembered suddenly taking huge lungfuls of air, and with his mind switching to base survival instincts, struggling not to drown. He heard voices call out his name, and strong arms wrap around him. He fainted not long after.

He woke up not five minutes later to Grunkle Stan pressing down on his chest. He coughed up salt water and bile, and opened his eyes, to be greeted by a star-ridden night sky, only to close them back again as he groaned. The world was spinning all around him and he felt like his brain was compressing in on itself. He struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot up from practically _everywhere,_ and felt warm hands resting against his back, drawing his attention from the ache practically hammering in his bones. He slowly turned his head to look at his helper, intent on thanking them if his voice decided to cooperate with him, and found Wendy staring back at him, her whole face radiating concern and relief. Wendy. Boss. Girl.

Mabel.

He sucked in a panicked breath, gaze snapping back to the water. He scrambled to get up, much to the protest of the rest of his body. Nearly all his muscles and bones screamed with every movement he made, sore and battered and bruised and simply wanting some rest after nearly drowning twice. Dipper, however, had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Where’s Mabel?!” he yelled, though it came out more like a wheeze. His throat felt like sandpaper.

He scanned the crowd. Some were missing. Mabel was missing. He rested his eyes on Grunkle Stan, and his crumpled expression told him enough. Dipper’s stomach plummeted. He felt like throwing up.

He tried to march back towards the water, but both Wendy and Grunkle Stan cried out, wrapping their arms around him and keeping him restrained.

“DIPPER! You can’t go back in!”

“ _Mabel’s still in there!_ ” he cried. He tried to shake them off, but to no avail. They held on tight.

“You’ve just drowned twice, kid!” yelled Grunkle Stan. “Like hell I’m letting you tempt fate again!”

“YOUR _NIECE_ IS TEMPTING FATE, OLD MAN!” Dipper’s legs gave out from under him. “MABEL!” he thought maybe she’d hear him. Maybe she’d yell back. Maybe she was still alive.

He heard nothing.

He collapsed onto the ground and curled back into himself. “Mabel...” Someone, Grunkle Stan, wrapped their arms around him, petting his hair and making what should’ve been calming shushing noises.

He was drowning, suffocating, and so, _so_ cold. Shivering and hyperventilating, he could feel Grunkle Stan sobbing into his shoulder. He was petrified, but not because he was being held back this time.

He felt his heart rip itself apart and fill up with dread. Mabel couldn’t be dead, Mabel _wasn’t_ dead. But the look on Grunkle Stan’s face... His hands flew to his face and he whimpered, staring at the sea. It couldn’t possibly be real.

No, he was dreaming. Must’ve been. He was still unconscious, or maybe _he_ was the one who was dead; drowned for real and all this was just a figment of his imagination, his own personal hell. It would explain the burning in his throat, his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_...”

He shakily breathed in. It was his own damn fault. He shouldn’t have let go. He should’ve pulled harder. He should’ve dived in. She trusted him to keep her safe and he let her down. He didn’t try hard enough. He should’ve tried hard enough. He got distracted, and now his sister, _the most precious person in the world_ , was gone because of him. His fault. All his fault.

All the _shouldn’ts_ and _should’ves_ and _didn’ts_ whirled around in Dipper’s head as he sucked in a deep breath. He repeated them over and over, guilt and grief, _why her_ and _why me, give her back_ and _take me instead._

He cried harder.

She couldn’t be dead, she just... couldn’t _._ But she wasn’t here either. He was alone. All alone.

Why wasn’t she here? She should have been here, right next to him, like she always was, _nobody could take her away from him_.

But they did.

His shoulder shook as he sobbed into his arms. He tried choking it down, but the mere thought of living without Mabel... He felt bile rise up his already burning throat. He felt shrivelled up, tossed away, useless and empty. So utterly _empty._

 

 

A resounding _splat_ and a grunt echoed through the night air.

 

Dipper looked up, tears clouding his vision, but he could still make out the sight before him.

Dragging itself out on the shore was the golden siren. Next to it rested an unmoving body with long brown hair. Relief washed over Dipper as he raggedly exhaled. He struggled to get up, bones creaking and muscles flaring, but his sister was _right there._ Right there in front of him after he feared for the worst _,_ and he felt dizzy and elated, as if he had just downed a full barrel of rum.

Everybody rushed towards the pair. Dipper fell next to his twin sister, his brain finally kicking in and going into overdrive. She was unconscious and bloody and soaked, and he struggled to remember what he had to do before he cupped her cheeks and tilted his ear next to her mouth. She wasn’t breathing.

He began chest compressions, all the while repeating her name over and over again, his own heart pounding. Mabel was _alive._ No, he corrected, she wasn’t alive _exactly_. But he could save her, successfully this time. He was _not_ going to lose her, not again. He did not want to imagine a world without Mabel. He fought back the urge to vomit; now was really not the time. His vision blurred around the edges but he ignored it.

He forced his own air into her lungs, again and again and again and again. He lost track of time, but the longer she stayed unconscious, the more hope he lost. He felt someone gently grab his shoulder. He knew what that meant. But he had already left her for dead once, he wasn’t going to do it again. So, he shrugged it off, uncaring and stubborn, and frowned deeper in concentration, redoubling his efforts.

He was bending back down to exhale, when suddenly she coughed up salt water in his face and turned back onto her side, curling up into a foetal position. She vomited out her lungs onto the sand, pushing herself up by her arms and if it weren’t for Dipper, would’ve collapsed face first into the mess she’d just made. He held her tight, rocking her back and forth.

“Mabel... Oh, Mabel,” he whispered. “You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive...”

He was hyperventilating.

She was shivering.

They were both exhausted.

Dipper heard cries of victory all around him, cheering and sobs of relief. He sensed someone kneel next to him, and another pat him on the back. He really couldn’t care less. Mabel was alive. She was _alive_ and _not dead_ and _here with him,_ and the world could collapse in on itself and Dipper wouldn’t even notice as long as she _stayed_ there _._

The sound of a gun being cocked resonated through the cove, and everybody fell silent.

Dipper looked up, still petting his sister’s hair.

Grunkle Stan was aiming his pistol against the siren’s head. Dipper had forgotten it was even there. He did a double take at the sight it made, inhaling a sharp gasp because _what the hell?_ It was bloody and mangled, bruises blooming on its collarbone and neck, deep red scratches down its left shoulder and back, its hair tangled, face flushed, with blood and skin on its torn apart nails. It made a pretty miserable picture. It held itself up by its arms, still catching its breath, and it glanced up at the sound, sighing heavily as it visibly deflated, hunching its head back towards the ground.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right here, right now,” said the Captain.

“Actually, I... _hah..._ I can give you _three,”_ it panted. “I’m the only thing keeping the others from coming back, for one.”

They all bristled. _They owed their lives to the thing that tried to kill them in the first place? No fucking way._

“Two, I saved your kids, didn’t I?”

“Not before trying to drown them!” Grunkle Stan was outraged. His arm stiffened, the gun pressed harder on the beast’s forehead.

The siren simply made a noncommittal noise and shrugged.

“Call it pack instinct. They don’t like it when someone goes independent.”

Even on the verge of passing out, this new information struck Dipper’s interest, though right now his top priority was still his sister. She sucked in a stuttering breath and he ducked down, worried, and looked her over properly this time. She had a nasty gash near her hairline, and bruises forming on her neck and wrists, but was otherwise fine. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. She was pale, and trembling, and completely soaked. He held her tighter, though he himself hadn’t much heat to share.

Distractedly, he noticed that the siren’s voice was surprisingly... not magical? It was strangely pitched, echo-y and nasal. It didn’t sound anything at all like the crystalline and suave singer from before.

It didn’t feel safe, which, he realized, made it even safer in a really weird and really roundabout sort of way. His head hurt when he tried to think about it.

The siren finished catching its breath back, and it spoke again.

“And third,” it said as it lifted its arm, pointing right at Dipper and Mabel. “The boy’s going to need all the help he can get.”

Dipper watched as Grunkle Stan hesitatingly lowered his pistol, clearly still furious, but worried nonetheless.

He, on the other hand, didn’t even have the energy to think past a confused ‘ _What?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chap will be this same one, but in Bill's POV!!! Most things that seem fishy (hehehe) in this chapter will be explained in the next, promise.
> 
> (Also how the hell do you emotion??? I'm confused.)
> 
> Bonus points to the people who've noticed how much I'm basing myself off Pirates of the Carribean: On Stranger Tides (but I'm not rewritting it, no worries.)
> 
> Feel free to point out typos or give advice anytime!


	3. Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the ever-so patient palolabg on tumblr for letting me use her character Arnold Kryptos in passing and technically beta-reading this chapter. Major respect.
> 
> Also yes, I know Tad Strange has been confirmed as NOT a purple square demon but fuck that shit, he'll always be a demon (turned siren for the purpose of this fic) in my heart, you can't tell me what to do.

Bill was bored. Completely and utterly bored. It should’ve been impossible to be so bored, but here he was. Nothing had happened in the past two moons. No pirates, no sailors, not even fishermen. He felt like he was rotting away.

The company wasn’t great either. Everyone was miserable, really. They hadn’t had a hunt since the humans in suits and wigs passed by.

Bill smiled at the memory. That was a fun one. Navy soldiers were always a delight to sing to. They never believed the locals when they warned them about the dangers of the sea. Their screams of confusion, the disbelief fading in their eyes as the life was slowly sucked out of them, and they weren’t half bad looking too.

Oh sure, the clothes were a pain to rip off once they were dead, but Bill could appreciate style when he saw it. Sometimes, he’d even keep what had managed to survive the shredding.

He was playing with one such item right now as a matter of fact. He curiously flipped it over, passing it left and right and letting it go, watching it float for a few seconds before grabbing it again. The cycle repeated. It was a strange thing: a piece of black leather, vaguely triangular with rounded edges, with two lengths of string attached at either end. He had found it on the sea floor years ago, and it had remained his favourite trophy ever since.

He wore it as a necklace, tied in a neat bow at the back. The others looked at him odd for it at first, but they simply had chalked it up to Bill being Bill again and had grown used to it. He had always been the weirdest of the bunch after all, being an outsider and all that.

He was interrupted in his musings by a series of clicks that vaguely translated into his name. His face went blank as he looked up towards the source, holding back a huff of annoyance. Honestly, if they had come to complain to him again...

A purple siren floated above him, grinning like a madman and showing off his razor sharp teeth. He was practically vibrating in excitement; quite the contrast from two days ago when he was moping because he was sick of eating shrimp. Bill sighed, unable to bite it back in time.

“Good news or get out, Tad.”

“Lookouts spotted a pirate frigate heading right for us from the south. They should be here in a day’s time.”

Bill returned the other’s grin. Finally, something interesting!

▲▼▲

Bill had to hand it to the kid, he was cute. With his wide eyes and pouty lips, he looked like a scared little rabbit surrounded by a pack of wolves. In a way, he kind of was. Except the wolves were half-fish and blah, blah, blah, details, details.

The whole school had surrounded the boats the moment they passed through the rocks, though they kept underwater; they were baiting their time; it was fun to keep up the suspense. They had labelled each craft a number from one to five in order of appearance, and had separated themselves into teams of three and four. Standard procedure really, but with how ravenous they all were, they made sure they’d be extra efficient. No survivors. Still, Bill scrunched up his nose in disgust when he got a first look at his prey.

Pirates weren’t Bill’s favourite. Smelly, alcoholic, diseased with scurvy, kind of scrawny sometimes, dressed in rags, actually knew what they were doing, not that it really helped... He could go on and on for hours. The few that had rowed into the cove, four of them, a scouting party, hadn’t impressed him either. But the higher ranking? _Ooh boy..._

The Captain, he could tell by the lavish clothes, was an older gent, built strong and steady. But he was old, so he let someone else have him. In another boat, there stood what probably were the second and third in command: a round, meaty man that would’ve been a _delight_ to bite into, and a valiant redhead with muscle to her arms, ripe for the taking. Women were oh so rare at sea, so it came as a surprise not to see only one, but _two_ of them in the crew.

However, his eyes were already dead set on somebody else. Namely, the nervous wreck in boat number three. Poor thing was trying so hard to ignore Bill, it was funny. And kind of irritating.

The boy was just Bill’s type. Lean, fit, miserable with deep dark bags under his eyes, wasn’t he just adorable? He cleaned up nice too, for a pirate: a clean, sleeveless deep blue jacket, over an orange-red blouse whose sleeves were obviously shortened. Nice fabric, it looked soft. He seemed unarmed, but Bill didn’t doubt the kid had a dagger, or maybe even a pistol, concealed somewhere on his body.

What really did it for him though was the piece of cloth on the boy’s head, a bandana if he remembered his terminology correctly. It was both white and blue, with a strange picture on the front. It reminded him of the trees near the lake before he had immigrated south. Palm... Plum... Poplar? ...Pine! That’s right, a pine tree!

Anything that reminded him of home, he wanted. Anything he wanted, he got. So he wasn’t going to let the others rip it apart, no frigging way. The boy was his.

Tad was near boat number one, and Bill watched as he silently emerged from the water, then dove back down in a splash.

The hunt was on.

Arnold, one of the two other sirens on Bill’s team, splashed around too. The stargazing prick liked to tease his prey in the simplest of ways. Personally, Bill thought he was much classier in devising long, complicated and convoluted plans to torture his quarry, though only when he deemed it worth his time, of course. The fun lasted longer that way. Still, he watched as his Pine Tree scrambled to take a look. Well, that wouldn’t do, now would it? Bill was much more interesting than boring, old, sky-obsessed _Arnold._

He eased his way above the water, and rested his upper body on the edge of the boat. He smiled softly as Pine Tree turned back and saw him. His screams were music to Bill’s ears.

He pushed himself away, laughing, when the boy tried to kick him. A fighter then. This was just getting better and better by the second.

As he laughed, he watched the boy relax. He lowered his foot, while his shoulders sagged, and he looked positively gobsmacked. Good. A fighter, but not a pain. Perfect.

He swam up to him again, and the kid didn’t even blink as he cupped his cheeks. Bill smirked and started to sing. He didn’t particularly care for the lyrics, all he needed was his voice, but sirens always did like a bit of irony, so he sung some nonsense about trust, which in his mind, painted a pretty hilarious picture.

He slid his hands behind the boy’s head, threading his fingers through his hair and gently scraping his nails along the back of his neck. The man shivered. Bill stared as his eyes slowly clouded over, and Pine Tree did not notice as the siren deftly untied the knot of his bandana.

Bill kissed him on the cheek, relishing in the simply beautiful shade of red the boy’s face took on as he flushed. Boy oh boy, was this kid a catch or what? He discreetly slipped the piece of cloth off the pirate’s head and wrapped it tightly around his wrist. He lightly tugged at the boy’s fingers, which were gripping the boat so hard Bill thought the bones would break, and the kid followed him into the water willingly. Technically, not. Bill mentally shrugged. He didn’t really understand the full effects his voice had on humans, nor did he really care to find out.

Pine Tree was half-way out the boat, head and neck completely submerged, when Bill decided the gig was up.  He morphed his face into its feral appearance: cold like the sea, teeth sharp like a shark’s, eyes red and eyelid-less like any other aquatic creature, and his jaw just a little bit too unhinged. His prey wasn’t small, after all.

The boy snapped out of his trance just as Bill was opening his mouth. He tried to scream, and started flailing his arms, trying to rip himself away, but Bill held on tight. He flinched away as the human’s air burst out in a torrent of bubbles. This was the always unpleasant part.

As the last of the froth floated up to the surface, he leaned back in. However, he froze. He reverted back to his normal appearance at the sight before him, too shocked to keep up the grimace.

The kid’s bangs had cleared away from his forehead as the bubbles pushed them upwards, revealing a ridiculously large birthmark shaped exactly like one of those constellations Arnold was so fond of.

It was a very distinctive feature.

People didn’t _have_ distinctive features.

 _People_ didn’t include this boy.

Bill pushed him away and out of the water. He might not have been the most self-preserving fish in the sea, but he knew when he was biting off more than he could chew. And just then? He had almost tried to swallow a whole freakin’ whale.

He could not let the others kill the kid, nor try to murder anyone else, for that matter. Who knows who else on this godforsaken crew was magical too? Witchcraft could physically manifest itself in any number of ways, and Bill simply did not have the time to check every nook and cranny for the signs. He shook his head vigorously. Mythical creatures did not kill other mythical creatures. Especially ones that were way more powerful than them. It always came back to bite them in the tail somehow.

Bill knew that better than anyone else.

He shot towards the middle of the cove and surfaced in a splash; not that anyone noticed. They soon would, though.

He shrieked his lungs out in the most ear-splitting danger warning he could muster. He whipped around, still screeching. He had to make sure every single one of them left.

Most of the sirens responded in kind and started to shriek too. Others were too surprised to keep on singing, and dropped back down into the water. Some though, some refused to let anything or anyone get in between them and their meal.

Bill made sure to drag these particular ones down before they could inflict anymore potential damage onto themselves. Taking a firm hold with both hands on their tail, he pulled them back down in one powerful tug, and swam away before they could try to exact payback on him. He wasn’t always so lucky in his timing, however. Tad in particular swiped at him with his claws, effectively leaving four long scratches down Bill’s neck, shoulder and chest.

Collective panic began spreading as more and more sirens frantically tried to swim out of the cove. The shrieking became unbearable even to Bill’s ears. Internally, he cackled. It was funny how stupid his southern cousins were, following the rest without even once questioning why they had to leave in the first place... He turned around.

He cursed as he saw Arnold struggle with one of the human girls. This one had long brown hair and a scowl so scary it even sent shivers up Bill’s spine. She was fighting, and fighting good, but Arnold still had the advantage of gills and was winning by a landslide. Bill’s shoulder ached, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to risk getting his eyes mauled out by a furious Arnold this time. Surely, one human wouldn’t be too bad. He couldn’t save everyone after all.

Apprehension tingled at the back of his head. Bill felt like he was missing something, that he wasn’t able to see the bigger picture, _and it was pissing him off._ He watched as the girl pulled out a gun from where it was hanging on her belt. Bill scoffed. Guns didn’t work underwa—

_Oh._

Apparently, this one did.

The girl shot Arnold with some sort of miniature harpoon. He avoided it just in time, tilting his head to the side, so that it only just grazed his cheek. But the star-loving dirtbag had a thing with vanity, Bill knew, and such a minor disfiguration to his visage really did not bode well for the tiny human.

He held his hand up pressing near the cut, clearly astonished that his prey had managed to hurt him. His face twisted, true fury, before he launched himself towards the girl. That was when Bill had to intervene.

Anybody who could piss Arnold off was good in his books. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.

Bill tackled the other siren out of way before he could reach Shooting Star. Arnold swiped at him, claws out and incredibly long, just as Bill expected he would, so he dodged it and pushed the blue siren away into the chaos around them, effectively hitting him over the head and stunning him. Satisfied, he swam back towards the girl.

She was slowly sinking, weighted down by the fabric of her dress, the air leaving her in small bubbles as her eyes fluttered closed. Bill grabbed her by the armpits and pulled her up. Sirens all around them were trying to flee, and he struggled to swim her back to shore. They were roughly shoved aside – _rude_ – into the ragged edge of the rock coast. Bill got the wind positively knocked out of him as he was smashed between the stone and Shooting Star’s body.

He squinted as he had an epiphany. He didn’t _have_ to get the girl back to shore, right? Just out of the water. He hauled her up, over sea level and onto the rock coast. She coughed and spluttered and vomited. Bill grimaced in disgust. _Ugh, humans... No class whatsoever._ She fell unconscious, but was still breathing. He didn’t think twice about leaving her there.

He dove back into the water. Sirens everywhere were still trying to leave, shrieking and flailing and Bill shook his head. He didn’t have to do a thing. The others were inducing themselves into a panic without even knowing why and frankly, it was pathetic. Bill simply observed his surroundings, taking everything in. He had to make sure every single one of them had left before parting himself. Then, of course, he’d have to face punishment for his insubordination and borderline treason, but that was better than a dying man’s curse anytime, he thought.

His eyes widened as he spotted said possible dying man, underwater, just a few feet away, being shoved around like one of those recreational spheres small humans played with. Bill swore under his breath as he made his way towards Pine Tree. How the _hell_ did he end up _underwater? How many humans was he going to have to save tonight?!_

He made it there just in time to tug the kid out from a rabid siren’s reach. He wrapped his arms around the boy’s torso, holding him tight against his own chest. Pine Tree didn’t even struggle. Distractedly, Bill noted that was a bad thing. Both sirens glared at each other.

“ _What are you playing at, Cipher?_ ” the silver one clicked. “ _We’re hungry. Give us the boy.”_

 _“I don’t think so,”_ Bill hissed. He tightened his arms protectively. “ _How about I plague your dreams for the next two weeks and then we’ll talk.”_

That shut them up. Bill’s creations were always too terrifying to be worth it. They left, though clearly furious about it. As long as they were gone, Bill did not care.

Belatedly, he realized Pine Tree had been underwater for what was probably much too long for human lungs. He almost panicked as he rocketed towards the surface, dragging the pirate up with him. Once they emerged, the human took a huge breath, practically choking, and flailed his arms wildly. He grabbed onto Bill’s shoulders and pushed him down, elevating himself up above the water. Clearly, the kid was a-okay if he was already reacting violently. Nonetheless, Bill couldn’t just leave him to drown or be eaten again, especially not if that landed him with a curse on his back.

He struggled to keep Pine Tree afloat. The kid was just not cooperating, and it was steadily pissing Bill off. His shoulder hurt. Fortunately, he spotted the Captain surfacing just as he was kicked in the stomach. He doubled over, and left before he got bruised even worse than he already was. He glanced back to see the older man successfully swimming back to shore with the boy unconscious in his arms. _Good riddance..._

He spinned around, scanning the waters. Most sirens had now left, and the few who remained were just on their way. He smirked in satisfaction. He wasn’t about to doom himself just because his stupid cousins couldn’t even recognize magic if it spit them in the face. He winced and clutched at his shoulder as pain flared from it. It stung, and Bill bit his cheek, trying to keep himself from laughing.

He watched the last of the stragglers swim away. He popped back to the surface, making sure no other sirens decided to simply hide themselves behind a clump of rocks, ready to ambush again. He rounded the cove one, two, three times, before he was satisfied with his work. He grimaced as he remembered what fate was waiting for him once he returned, his mood darkening. Not the least bit pleasant, but he knew it was the lesser of two evils. He sighed, before turning back and making his way past the rocks.

“MABEL!”

Bill whipped around at the cry. He stared at Pine Tree whilst his legs gave out from underneath him, and as the Captain and his third in command tried to console the kid. He frowned as the boy cried his eyes out in grief. Bill’s heart lurched inside of him, leaving him confused and concerned for his health. That couldn’t be normal. He scanned the crowd behind the boy, and everything clicked into place.

 _Of COURSE Pine Tree cares about the girl!_ he thought as he swam back towards the rocks. _They were in the same boat weren’t they? Stupid, stupid, stupid! What are they? Related? Is she magical too? I swear if she’s not alive, I’ll..._

He stopped.

Shooting Star wasn’t dead.

Shooting Star was _fucking missing._

Bill made a strangled noise of desperation. Seriously? _SERIOUSLY?!_ Was it just him or was the universe really hell bent on having him hexed?

He plunged back into the water, frantically searching left and right for Pine Tree’s friend. He spotted her in the corner of his eye, struggling, _again_ , to free herself from _another_ siren’s grip. _Fucking hell..._

These kids were danger magnets.

The siren, a girl with a green tail this time, had her by the wrists, and was trying to lead her back to a network of underwater caverns. Shooting Star was doing her best to break free, kicking and tugging, but her thrashing was slowly getting weaker and weaker as she struggled to keep awake. Bill was done now, so completely and utterly _done_ , with the inefficiency of human breathing.

He grumbled as he torpedoed towards the siren, slamming her against the reef wall and pining her to it with his hands on her shoulders.  She clutched at Bill’s back, leaving long red scratches and Bill hissed. He tried head-butting her but she flipped them around before he could, and he yelped as the rough corals scraped against his injuries. The green tart held him by the throat as she opened her mouth, teeth sharp, and closed in on his jugular. Bill swiped at her, claws out, leaving deep red marks along the length of her arm.

She shrieked away, and Bill took his chance and punched her in gut. She doubled over, and he yanked her by her hair, slamming her head against the wall. She collapsed, and started to slowly float towards the surface, unmoving and unresponsive to Bill’s tentative poking. He panted, out of breath, and winced as pain spread all over his body. He couldn’t help but let a giggle escape, perhaps just a tad bit on the maniacal side, though honestly, he had just probably killed, or at least given serious brain damage, to some distant relative whilst earning a few injuries himself. That he was a little bit harried would’ve been an understatement.

He pivoted around, and he got a horrible sense of déjà vu as he saw Shooting Star, unconscious after evidently trying to swim back to the surface, sinking down because her _damn_ dress was too heavy when soaked. Bruised and bloody, Bill made his way to her, grabbed her, and hauled her back towards the shore.

His entire body ached once they arrived on the beach. Frankly, he was exhausted; anybody would be after _that_ spectacular fiasco. So, just as he was about to collapse fully on the sand, and he felt Shooting Star being ripped away from him, he might’ve gone a bit feral there for a second. He instantly calmed down, however, when he saw Pine Tree frantically checking over his friend, and, yeah, they were definitely related, same eyes, same hair, same general facial structure, twins even maybe. They looked about the same age.

The whole crew crowded around the siblings, effectively ignoring Bill. He wondered if maybe he should make a discreet exit. But, well, his brain wasn’t functioning properly right now, and nor did the rest of his body. He really, _really_ did not want to go back, and Pine Tree was pushing down rhythmically on Shooting Star’s chest in a really strange way. Mark his curiosity piqued.

He panted, keeping himself up on wobbling arms, and watched Shooting Star suddenly cough up various fluids to her brother’s face. Pine Tree didn’t even seem fazed by it. Humans were definitely weird. And gross. She wheezed and vomited, _again,_ onto the beach before nearly collapsing, but was gathered up into her twin’s arms while everybody else around them breathed a sigh of relief. They all cheered, and Bill flinched at the sudden loud noise. A stab of pain shot up from Bill’s spine, and he nearly choked.

He felt a cold pressure on his forehead, and heard the telltale _click_ of a gun ready to fire.

He glanced up, and sighed. He didn’t even have the energy to mock the Captain, and that was really saying something. The gun wasn’t some strange hook contraption like Shooting Star’s; it was a completely normal, gunpowder type pistol that wouldn’t work now that it had been soaked. Bill could easily call the man’s bluff.

His eyes trailed up towards the man’s face. He startled, taken aback by the obvious family resemblance he had with the twins. So they were related too? Judging by his age, he was their grandfather or something... Piracy made a family business... Well, nothing was impossible.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right here, right now,” he said, voice deceptively calm and steady. Bill wasn’t worried, though; the man couldn’t kill him unless he decided to beat him to a bloody pulp.

“Actually, I... _hah..._ I can give you _three,_ ” he had to bite back a smirk. Teasing the man was just too easy, but it wouldn’t help him get out of his situation. “I’m the only thing keeping the others from coming back, for one.”

That part was only partially true. Until the confusion toned down and order was restored, the others wouldn’t dare try and attack again, and Bill could always give them nightmares to slow them down even more. So, he wasn’t exactly an all impervious shield, but he _was_ the next best thing, so they really couldn’t complain about it.

“Two, I saved your kids, didn’t I?” He did smirk then.

“Not before trying to drown them!” The pistol was pushed harder against his skull, tilting his head even higher with the movement. Bill went cross-eyed as he saw the trigger finger twitch. But the gun was useless, he had to remember.

He discarded the argument with a flippant remark.

“Call it pack instinct. They don’t like it when someone goes independent.”

Again, only partially true.

He thought back on his third reason to survive. He wanted to keep an eye on Pine Tree, evaluate how much of a threat he really was. Not once had he used magic to get himself out of dangerous situations, and Bill started to have a few doubts. Maybe the kid was _extremely_ suicidal, or he didn’t even know his potential. While the siren hadn’t had the most pleasant of histories with wizards and witches, he had to make sure the boy didn’t die on the island, because obviously the kid and his sister just _attracted_ danger like a moth to a flame, it was _ridiculous_. This time, he decided to go with the most ominous half-truth he could think of.

“And third,” he lifted his arm, pointing right at the siblings. “The boy’s going to need all the help he can get.”

He internally laughed a smug ‘ha!’ as the Captain lowered his gun.

Then pain bloomed all around as something collided with his temple, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand... slow clap for Bill logic saving Mabel's life. I'm also getting a bit concerned that I can't write a chapter without SOMEONE getting hurt... Oops.
> 
> And yes, Bill wouldn't be Bill without some dream powers, it's already bad enough I've stripped him of his fire and omniscience, so there. 
> 
> EDIT: I have been made aware that the... thing... with Dipper's birthmark is somewhat vague? So, just so to be clear, the birthmark isn't what MAKES Dipper magical, it's only a physical manifestation, a sign I guess, that basically says: "Hello! I'm magical! Don't fuck with me." Hope that clears some things up.


	4. Semibreve

Bill woke up to the acrid smell of smoke and burning fish. His eyes snapped opened, and he twisted in a panic. His shoulders hit walls, and pain blossomed from everywhere. He couldn’t move, he was stuck. His breath quickened.

Burning, fire, danger. He had to leave, had to get away, had to flee. Away from the fire, away from the traps, away from the hunters all around him, on the coasts, on the boats, torches and barricades and he was trapped, hands on him, out of the water, shadows and light and too much _heat, too close, too hot, binds and blindfolds and gags and he was drying out, had to get out, needed to get out, smoke in his lungs, burns on his skin, laughs and laughs and laughs..._

He bolted upright, and smacked his head on something hard, made a dull _thump_ that left his mind spinning and confused. He groaned. Pain pulsated from where he hit his head and his whole brain in general felt like it was being repeatedly slammed into by a sea urchin. He tried to bring a hand up to his temple, but he winced as he felt the scratching and chafing of rope tied around his wrists.

He squirmed, could barely move, stuck in some tiny box and he felt his breath stop short. The hunters had gotten him. In a haze, he tried to push the walls around him, they had to give, he had to leave, escape, get the _fuck_ away from wherever he was.

He took in deep breaths, struggled to clear his head and squash down the panic, taking stock of the situation. His arms were twisted and tied behind his back, his mouth was stuck open and gagged, and he was trapped in a very small space, but at least he was underwater. He squinted and focused on his surroundings. Whatever box he was held captive in, it was made out of glass, clear but solid, copper metal cover and handles on the outside, with small, circular holes across the left and right panels to let air in. However, it was too small for him to be able to move. He had to twist his tail at an awkward angle just so he could fit.

He tugged at his restraints, but they wouldn’t give. The world was spinning around him, and black spots started to appear on the corners of his vision. _Get out, get out, get out, GET OUT...!_ He blindly tossed and turned, slamming his shoulders against the panels entrapping him and ignoring the pain blooming from his desperate attempts.

A knock on the glass.

Bill froze.

He slowly turned his head towards the sound, and stared as a young brown-haired man frowned right back at him. Last night’s events came back rushing in a flurry of colours that left him reeling. Mindscape Bay, the Caribbean, people in the cove, a magical crew, Tad and Arnold, saving the twins from drowning twice, the Captain hitting him with the butt of his pistol. No hunters, just pirates. Relief flooded over him, and he instantly calmed down, before he let his head fall back on the crystal panel behind him. _What an idiot!_ Now he was stuck on land, unable to swim back to sea or safety. He moaned in self-deprecation.

Pine Tree took a step back and straightened, still frowning, as he let two other pirates come over and lift the box’s cover up and onto the ground. Bill shivered at the cold morning breeze, and he scooted into a sitting position, mindful of his injuries, resting his sore arms and shoulders against the cool surface of the glass behind him. He inhaled deeply before exhaling, his breath evening while he concentrated on dissipating the last remnants of his little panic attack. The twisted knot in the pit of his stomach slowly uncoiled, and his mind caught up with the current situation. Captured, hurt, threat of possible magic, so he had to be careful, but at least his brain was cooperating again.

The Captain stepped in front of him, shoulders squared, arms tucked behind his back, as the two other pirates took out their pistols and aimed straight at Bill’s head. He didn’t even glance at them, simply leveling an unimpressed look at the gent before him. So the guns probably had the time to dry, and the men to change the powder. They could actually kill him this time, but not unless Bill did something stupid, which, honestly, he thought he had already done. It’d be hard for him to top being held prisoner by a bunch of ratty pirates.

Both man and siren stayed silent, sizing each other up with a glare. Bill took the time to adequately assess the Captain’s figure this time, now that he wasn’t being distracted by other alluring prey. He wore his hair short, contrary to the majority of the human population, prim and proper and quite out of a pirate’s usual character. Instead of the typically tattered cocked hat with the absurdly large feathers, the man wore a strange red cylinder with a black tassel and a minimalistic rendition of a fish eating... some kind of dot?

Hawk nose, square jaw and just a bit of stubble, plus the bushy eyebrows, the man did paint a pretty impressive and intimidating picture. Too bad Bill really couldn’t think past the ridiculous hat.

His shoulders shook as he silently giggled. The gag was only a formality, to be expected but of no real hindrance. Bill could very well just morph into his fangs and shred the miserable piece of cloth, but he decided to let them bask in their illusion of safety, unless, of course, measures had to be taken.

The man just frowned deeper at Bill’s antics.

He glanced to his left, nodded, and Pine Tree hesitatingly made his way towards the Captain. He stopped behind him, pivoting around and facing Bill, apprehension written all over his face.

Personally, Bill thought it suited him.

The Captain shifted, tensed, and Bill’s attention snapped back to the man.

“You’ve got quite some guts on ye, siren, for stayin’ behind after attacking me crew,” he started, voice laden with a thick sailors’s accent. “You’re lucky you ain’t dead yet.”

Bill did not deem that with a response.

The captain huffed. “Just for the record, I far from want to do this. But apparently I have to ask you scabby sea bass. Is my nephew in danger, aye or nay?”

Bill simply raised an eyebrow. The man sniffed.

“Like hell I’m un-gagging you, just nod or shake yer head,” he said.

 _Fair enough,_ Bill thought. _Wouldn’t trust myself either._ He gazed upwards, contemplating his answer. Truth was, the whole crew was, objectively, in danger. But the twins were another problem completely.

He glanced around. They had settled a ways off from the shore during the night, so they were at least a _bit_ smart, but they weren’t far enough. Unless they went deep into the island’s forest, sirens would be able to find them and sing them back into the ocean. They had maybe a few days, one or two, to row back to their ship and gather supplies – Bill didn’t think them sane enough to want to leave, or else why would they even be here in the first place – and then they’d have to venture out into the wilderness.

Pine Tree – the Captain’s nephew, not grandson, he now knew – was definitely in danger, and dangerous himself. If the Captain didn’t know that, then he was clearly unaware of his grand-relative’s magical nature. It wouldn’t do to give the man one more looming threat over Bill, so he chose to keep quiet about it for the time being.

He looked back down, keeping unblinking eye-contact with the Captain as he slowly nodded. The Captain cursed underneath his breath before scrunching up his face in a grimace.

“Ain’t no way to tell if it’s lying...” he mumbled behind his raised hand. “Pah! What am I doing, taking a siren to its word? Lead us right back in the water, it will! Gotta go back to the ship... Is it safe to go back to the ship?”

Bill just rolled his eyes as the man mumbled deep in thought. He glanced at Pine Tree, then back down to the gag. Pine Tree, gag, Pine Tree, gag. Finally, the kid seemed to get the message. He squinted, glanced to the left, considering, looked down at his feet, shifted, weighing the pros and cons, sighed and peered back up through his bangs, shaking his head no.

Bill sighed loudly through his nose and rolled his eyes again, letting his head fall on the edge of the box and winced as the bump shot pain through his nervous system. _Bad idea._

▲▼▲

In the end, the pirates went back to their ship later in the day and came back with blankets, more weapons, compasses, maps, kitchen supplies, strange boxes full of ointments, bandages and other small tools, and many, _many_ bottles of rum.

Bill’s box was located in the shade, underneath the tall palm trees overlooking the beach. After the Captain and his men had left with a parting death threat, the rest of the crew had given the siren a wide berth and Bill had been left contentedly alone.

His shoulders ached after being tied up for so long. He shifted every few minutes, but whatever position he was in, it still hurt. However, he had somehow managed to flop his tail over the side of the box so it wasn’t awkwardly bent any longer. The pain of his wounds receded to a dull twinge every now and then, and he yearned for something to eat as his stomach growled for the umpteenth time that day.

He spent hours like this, contemplating what exactly he got himself into and what he was going to go about it. Escaping wasn't an option. Shred the gag, sing the sailors to a docile state, and make them carry him back to the water? He shook his head no. He had to keep an eye on Pine Tree. He couldn't leave. It was a shame that the only way for him to do so entailed being stuck in a box too small for him, but there wasn't any other alternative.

He watched the crew try to organise itself after last night’s chaos. He gathered that a few had not been lucky enough to survive: six, seven dead maybe, enough to make a sizeable dent in the admittedly already small crew. All the higher-ranking were alive though, and they were nursing the more badly injured ones to health. The big one went from one man to the other, not really seeming to know what he was doing since all he did was wrap some gauze over all and every kind of injury. He was followed around by the redhead, who rectified his mistakes and properly treated the men.

Pine Tree spent most of his time next to his sister. They were both kind of pale, bruised and scratched, but Shooting Star was definitely the worst one off. She was weak and weary, and could only stand and walk for a short amount of time. Bill suspected her head injury had to do with that. The Captain had more or less confined her to bed rest, and her brother was mother-henning her in the likes Bill had never seen before. She’d bat him off, insisting she was fine, but then she’d do something as simple as cough, and Pine Tree would almost have a panic attack, scrambling to figure out what was wrong.

Still, when Shooting Star didn’t seem in any immediate distress, and Pine Tree was carefully scribbling in a leather-bound notebook, the boy would often times look up and stare at Bill. Every time, Bill would stare back, and the boy would avert his gaze, eyes snapping back to the notebook, brows furrowing even deeper and he’d scribble more furiously on the pages before him. It made Bill chuckle. A sliver of entertainment in an otherwise uncomfortable and boring day.

The sun was setting down in hues of orange and pink when he finally got a visitor. And surprise, surprise, he was disturbed out of his reverie by Pine Tree making his way – limping, actually, how strange – towards him, a bottle of rum in hand. Bill quirked an eyebrow at his arrival. Too curious for his own good, that much was obvious, but he didn’t think the kid would have left his sister’s bedside for at the very least another two days.

The boy kneeled close to Bill’s cage, carefully setting down the bottle on the ground, making sure it wouldn’t topple over and spill. He kept his distance – just out of Bill’s reach, even if the siren had been tied – face scrunched up in a calculating look. His hair, short, but still long enough to be tied in a small ponytail, had been washed from the sand matting it, whilst his bangs were effectively covering the mark Bill knew was there. He was tense, fists curled and legs ready to sprint off the moment Bill acted out of line. Which was a sensible assumption to have, he had to admit.

They stayed like this, appraising and sizing each other up, for what felt like hours, but what were actually mere seconds. Finally, Pine Tree plopped down onto the ground, legs criss-crossed, and sighed in defeat, though Bill had done absolutely nothing.

He kept silent, still suspicious, before glancing back over his shoulder to the rest of the crew, then turning back and seemingly deciding he hadn’t come here for nothing.

He raised his arms and spoke. “If I un-gag you, promise you won’t bite my arm off?” He was practically already flinching, scared as he was.

Bill’s other brow joined the other. Pine Tree huffed.

“You tried to kill me; it’s a reasonable doubt to have.”

 _Not why I’m surprised, but alright,_ Bill internally sniggered.

He slowly nodded his head, tilting it towards the boy. Promises weren’t a thing Bill insisted on keeping, especially not if he found himself restricted by them, but if it got him out of his binds, he’d make an exception. He didn’t want to harm the boy anyway.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from snapping his jaw, almost nipping at Pine Tree as the boy reached around and untied the piece of cloth. The kid quickly jerked back, barely stifling a yelp, before levelling Bill’s own sharkish grin with a death-glare as effective as a pouting monk seal.

Bill flexed his jaw and stretched his mouth open, working out the soreness of it and practicing forming vowels again. He sat up straighter, and turned towards the kid, smiling with all his teeth. Pine Tree leaned back apprehensively, eyes fixed on the very, _very_ sharp fangs.

“So what do I owe the pleasure?” Bill titled his head to the side, grin still perfectly plastered on his face. “Lil’ Pine Tree come up and practically freed the big bad monster out of pity? Or was that gratitude for saving your sister? Oh no, I don’t think so. You want something. I know you human lot; won’t even do a good deed for free, for all the good it’ll do you.”

Pine Tree frowned, clearly unhappy at being caught.

“Well?” Bill asked. “Out with it then! I’m afraid I can’t do much in the gift department, stuck here as I am, but you already knew that! A question is what you want, I gather...?”

“Holy shit. Stop talking like some sort of witch. You’re creepy enough as it is.”

“Awwww... But Pine Tree!” Bill whined. “That takes all the fun out of it! But is that what I remind you of? A _witch?_ Well... I guess I am in a way! Practically. Kind of. Not really. A dream witch, even!” He’d have pumped his fist at the claim if his hands hadn’t been tied. He settled for a wider grin.

Pine Tree did not look impressed. “Yes, of course. I’m sure.”

Bill pouted. “I’ll give you nightmares just to prove it, kid.”

“Uh-huh,” said kid snorted.

“I’m thinking of a twenty-eyed monster made out of tar, chasing you through the woods and hot on your tail,” he smiled. “Why don’t you get back to me on that tomorrow morning, if you’re not petrified in your bed, that is.”

Pine Tree opened his mouth to reply what was most likely a scathing retort (not really), before he closed it, frowning, unconsciously leaning back defensively as his gaze zeroed in on Bill’s lips. _Ah._ So the kid _was_ smart.

“I thought your powers only worked if you were singing...” he cautiously ventured.

The siren rolled his eyes. The gesture was becoming much more frequent these past few days. “Obviously not. Though they’re greatly weakened, I’ll tell you that much. I can only really impair your judgement and senses if I sing, though I can still make you relax with my normal talking voice.”

The poor kid looked so conflicted. “Stop that!”

“Oh, that wasn’t me, kid! That’s just your own morbid curiosity keeping you rooted in place!”

Bill smirked. His cheeks were starting to ache from overuse, but he paid it no mind. Pine Tree, on the other hand, was fuming and glaring at the siren, as if he was to blame for the boy’s situation.

“So, you wanted to ask a question, Pine Tree?” he figured it was best to change the subject. Toying remained only fun as long as the victim was unsuspecting, in Bill’s experience.

Pine Tree immediately perked up at the notion. So Bill was right, the kid wanted knowledge, and his curiosity had led him to do an arguably questionable thing, not that Bill was complaining. He’d have to watch out, however, if that show of interest was going to pose a threat. Arguably questionable things wouldn’t always work out in his favour, he knew that. It all depended on what caught the boy’s interest, and how stubborn the kid was in pursuing his thirst for information.

But then Pine Tree scowled. He did that a lot, Bill noticed. His expression smoothed out into something more pensive: eyes wide, lips pressed in a thin line. He seemed at a loss at what to do now that he had gotten what he wanted. Bill chuckled. So the young pirate hadn’t thought things through that far, expecting some kind of refusal for some reason or other. Let it never be said that Bill wasn’t a generous soul from time to time.

“What’s the matter, Pine Tree? I’d figure you’d have tons to ask! Secrets to the universe? What’s the meaning of life? Does God exist? What’s the square root of three?”

“Oh, let me think, would you?”

Bill shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere... And I’m also not going to count that as your question. As a show of good faith.” He mustered up his best toothy smile.

Pine Tree just stuck his tongue out. Bill didn’t really know if that was supposed to mean anything; it was probably just some kind of weird human ritual or other.

“Alright, fine!” Pine Tree blustered. “Why’d you save Mabel?”

Bill’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m assuming that’s Shooting Star. I don’t want to answer that one. Find another.”

“What?! No! Why’d you save my sister, we had a deal!”

“We had no such thing,” the siren sniffed. “And I’m not answering that question. Find. Another.”

“Why’d you save my sister?” he crossed his arms.

“No!”

“Why?!”

“Because!”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Well, it’s the only answer you’re going to get!”

“DIPPER PINES, WHAT THE _FUCK_ DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!"

_Crap._

Both flinched at the Captain’s booming voice. Neither dared move as they watched the man stomp up the beach, shoulder hunched, fists curled, positively _fuming,_ and looking all the world like a raging bull. 

He stopped just a few feet away, sending lightning bolts at his nephew with his glare. His gaze slid over to Bill, and he quickly stepped closer, grabbing Pine Tree from the shoulders and wrenching him back behind him. His mouth twisted in a teeth-baring snarl as he lowly growled. 

“Why the fuck are you un-gagged?” he asked.

“Because your nephew is clearly the brains of the family.” Bill willed his voice to calm the other down, but it had absolutely zero effect. He doubted the man had even heard him in his frenzied rage.

He cursed the binds rendering him unable to defend himself as the Captain drew his sword out and pressed it against Bill’s throat. Distractedly, he heard Pine Tree squawk out in protest or shock. He didn’t delay to figure out which. “I haven’t sung your crew into unaware compliance, if you’ve noticed. Have you noticed? Because I haven’t. Sung your crew into unaware compliance, that is.” He rushed to talk himself out of harm’s way.

“Yes, of course,” the Captain drawled out. “You’re just here, having a nice little chat with my nephew, aren’t you? No malice, no hidden motives.” The blade’s tip pushed upwards, tilting Bill’s head back.

The siren tried for a smile. “Yes! Glad to see we’re on the same page here.”

The Captain turned his head slightly to the right, addressing Pine Tree now. “Get the gag, kid.”

“But...”

“Now, kid!”

“He’s not going to hurt us!” the boy protested.

“Oh _really_? How would you know?”

Pine Tree’s mouth clicked shut. He glanced over his uncle’s shoulder at Bill, who just shrugged his shoulders.

“He’s got a point, Pine Tree. How _do_ you know?”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “You are _not_ helping your case by asking that.”

The Captain turned back to glare at Bill. “You! Stop messing with Dipper, or I’ll cut yer throat out I swear.”

The siren did a double-take. “Oh! So the Captain knows more than he lets on!” He grinned. ”Not many are aware sirens can sweet talk as well as sweet sing...”

The Captain winced at his mistake.

“Grunkle Stan...?” Confusion was written all over Pine Tree’s face.

“Ooh, sorry, sorry,” Bill smirked. “Family troubles, eh? Didn’t mean to plant the seed of doubt there.”

The blade pressed harder against the siren’s jugular. “Dipper,” the Captain growled. “The gag, and no ‘buts’ this time.”

Pine Tree peered down at the cloth in his hands. He looked up, face grim, and stepped forward.

 _“Woah, woah, woah, WOAH!”_ Bill panicked. _“You can stop right there kid! At least hear what I’ve got to say before you put that blasted thing on me again!”_

Both men froze. Belatedly, Bill realized that in his frenzy, he hadn’t exactly spoken a human-comprehensible tongue.

“Did you just speak _dolphin?!”_ Pine Tree seemed rightfully astonished.

“Merman, actually,“ Bill acquiesced. “Honest mistake, though. They are, after all, very similar. I said there’s something you’ll want to know before you put that... _thing..._ on me again.”

The Captain squinted. “I think we’ll pass on that offer, thanks. Dipper!” he gestured to his nephew to get a move on with a tilt of his head.

“You’regoingtowanttomooryourboatandgodeepintotheforestifyoudon’twanttheotherstocomeback.” Bill spoke in rapid-fire.

The uncle held his hand up, palm flat, and Pine Tree stopped his advancing.

“Say that again.”

“You’re going to want to moor your boat and go deep into the forest if you don’t want the others to come back,” Bill repeated, slower this time.

“And why’s that?”

The siren grimaced. “Because they’re hungry, obviously! They’ll search for you, find you, and sing you back into the depths by the morrow’s dawn if you don’t find shelter under those trees. Stay hidden, and stay away. That’s the only way you and your crew will survive.”

“See?” Pine Tree piped up.

The Captain stayed silent, scrutinizing Bill’s face, no doubt looking for any sign that the siren was lying. “And why should we trust you, eh? Why are ye the odd one out, tryin’ to keep us pirates safe?”

“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” Bill countered. “Or just thrown me back into the ocean? Better yet, why don’t you just _leave?”_

“You expect me to believe there aren’t more monsters inside the island?”

“You expect me to believe you’d put your own flesh and blood in harm’s way?”

“You don’t want to be gagged.”

“And you don’t want your family in danger. So do we have a deal?” Bill smiled, eyes alight.

The Captain straightened, sheathing his sword back into its scabbard. “I catch you using your powers again, your voice ain’t the only thing you be losin’.”

“I’d very much like to have my hands untied.”

“Hell no,” the Captain sneered. “Don’t make me regret this, ye slovenly blowfish, or it’s your life I’ll be taking as compensation.”

The man pivoted around, and stalked off back to the beach. He shouldered his nephew as he passed him by, and Pine Tree stood there, blinking away the remnants of Bill’s magical hold on him – it didn't come much in handy since the Captain knew to ignore his nephew – before fearfully taking a few steps backwards himself and turning around, sprinting away and following his uncle.

Bill leaned back against the glass panel, signing in relief at a crisis averted. One small victory, sooner even than he had hoped. Maybe he’d even be able to get a fish or two to eat if he asked nicely. He smiled, a crooked and hopeful smile, at the thought.

Pine Tree’s bottle of rum lay forgotten on the sand beside Bill’s box. What the kid had wanted to do with it, it never occurred to Bill to wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sloooowly getting hang of this in character thing... Grunkle Stan is an effing mystery I'll tell you right now.
> 
> Next chapter will be back in Dipper's POV! I'm considering making a regular two-chapter POV switch, though that hasn't been set in stone yet...
> 
> And thank you all for the wonderful comments you've been posting since I started this story! It's basically made wednesday my favourite day of the week!!!! >:)


	5. Tie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god! The amount of feedback I got after the last chapter was AMAZING!!!! Thank you all so much!
> 
> Check out these alternate endings and drabbles inspired by this fic:  
> [It's A Game Of Keep Away by Momma_Ran](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3873994/chapters/8658439) (now with Chapter 2!!!)  
> [Sketch by futhorconde](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3852811/) (they're both very well written!)
> 
> And beautiful fanart:  
> [By angel-fieramente-humano](http://angel-fieramente-humano.tumblr.com/post/118066298927/fanart-of-off-the-deep-end-by-marshonthemellow)  
> [By elentori-art](http://elentori-art.tumblr.com/post/118826571612/new-art-blog-re-post-fanart-for-off-the-deep)  
> [By crispych0colate](http://crispych0colate.tumblr.com/post/117881670835/ah-yes-fanfiction-fanart-this-is-for)

Dipper _did_ dream of a twenty-eyed tar monster chasing him through the woods that night. Whether it be because the siren was telling the truth – that it truly had dream powers – or that the nightmare was only caused because Dipper couldn’t get yesterday’s conversation out of his head, he didn’t know. Maybe the siren’s voice had actually sealed his sleep fate that night by simply suggesting the scenario. Who knew how long the effects lasted anyways?

Dipper shuddered at the memory. He knew he was taking a risk by un-gagging it, giving it the ability to sing again, and he was fully prepared to shove a knife up its throat if the need arose, but he thought himself safe as long as it kept on talking. What a mistake _that_ was. How easy it had been to talk to the siren, mouthing off like it had been the most natural thing in the world; how he didn’t even notice he was under its spell; how it lulled him into a fake sense of safety; how it had made him _want_ to defend it against Grunkle Stan’s threats. And all the while, keeping him under the impression he was acting of his own free will. Only when the Captain had stormed off that he had regained his senses. Needless to say, he didn’t dally about.

Now, he was paying the price for his too-big-to-be-worth-it curiosity. The doctor had told him to keep off his sprained ankle for at least the next two to three weeks, but the Arrival Debacle – that’s what they were calling it now – had made it take a turn for the worse. Sprinting away from the siren after their unfortunate encounter didn’t help matters much either. He was back to limping, and putting his weight on his right leg was right out of the question. The swelling wasn’t too bad, but the pain – previously numbed by shock and hypothermia – would flare and burn the moment he put too much stress on his foot.

Needless to say, it absolutely sucked.

On the brighter side however, it gave him a good reason to stay by Mabel’s bedside and let Wendy and Soos take care of the rest of the crew. The doctor had died the night before last – Dipper didn’t really want to think about that – so everybody had to patch themselves up as best they could. As pirates though, self-administered care was something that came up more often than it should, and learning those skills were essential to your survival; you wouldn’t even live past the first week if you didn’t.

They had moved to a neighbouring beach during that first night. A few brave souls, therefore only Wendy and one other man, had made a quick trip to the ship to go get some supplies. The rest of the crew waited in bated breath. They finally came back, safe and sound, with enough to make camp: dry clothing, bedding, thread, needles, gauze and dry gunpowder. The Captain established a rotating lookout crew and they waited for the day’s sun to rise.

The following morning was rough. Dipper struggled to keep Mabel entertained and awake for as long as he could, what with her having a concussion, until she took a long two-hour nap that afternoon. Dipper worried she wouldn’t wake up. She did though, a bit feverish, dazed and confused but otherwise relatively fine. The blow to her head gave her a massive headache, by her account, so Grunkle Stan dispensed her of all duties and told her to rest up. 

She spent the rest of the day making lame jests about Dipper and his leg, flirting with that “cute” man that had survived the sirens too, and needling her brother for details on the happenings of the previous night. Apparently, she had completely forgotten any and all events after boarding the rowboat. Dipper was... well... reluctant would be putting it mildly; he was _very_ uncomfortable in answering those questions as he really did not want to relive that traumatic experience again, but Mabel would just _not_ let up. She had definitely noticed the extra fish-man a ways off, and then the jibes redoubled in force.

Somehow, she knew it was the one that had seduced Dipper, though she claimed she didn’t remember. 

But Mabel, with her heart of gold, felt for the siren for some reason.

“But bro-brooooooo... Look at it! It’s all scratched up and miserable! Did someone check its injuries, at least? What if they get infected?! Then you captured the siren for nothin’!”

“Mabel. You realize this thing tried to kill us, right?”

“Dipper. You realize this thing saved both our lives _twice_ , right? We’re pirates, not monsters!” The irony of that statement didn’t really hit her until later. “It’s not like I’m asking you to be _friends_ with it!”

He had to admit she had a point, it didn’t _seem_ like it wanted to kill them, but who knew for sure? That still didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. For some reason, Mabel took his silence as a refusal, so she made it her mission to convince him to check on the siren.

At first, she’d fake-cough, and when Dipper panicked, fearing she’d caught pneumonia, she’d dramatically lament how the _only cure_ was to check on the siren, hand on the forehead and everything. After the first three times, he stopped getting in a tizzy over it, though a rush of adrenaline would still spike across his body every time he heard her hack her lungs out. _Maybe this was it? Maybe this time she’s actually coughing, and she’s actually sick, and oh my god I need to check on her what if she needs my help? What if I’m too dumb to realize it? WHAT IF SHE’S DYING!? SHE CAN’T BE DYING, OH NO OH NO OH NO!_

When that first strategy failed, she employed the annoying sister card and just kept _on and on_  about how Dipper should go check the siren, Dipper it has got to be in pain, Dipper are you really going to leave it like that, Dipper c’mon, Dipper you know better, Dipper please, Dipper it’s so miserable, Dipper my heart hurts just look at it, Dipper it _actually_ hurts when I look at it, Dipper do it for me, Dipper this, Dipper that...

That one he was used to. So he just sat back and took out his journal – Wendy had fetched it for him during her second trip to the ship that afternoon – and filled it out with what he had learned recently. Seven years since he had come into the possession of his grandfather’s journals, and a lot of things had changed since Dipper’s ancestor had written down his observations of the supernatural. Some species had adapted and changed their behavior, some information had been proven false, some more had to be added, and sometimes the crew of the Mystery Shack would encounter an entire new being that had remained undocumented until now, though those occasions were rare.

However, it didn’t sit right with Dipper to edit the journals with his own handwriting, because as much as they were his, they weren’t at the same time. The solution? He simply lifted a few blank books here and there when they made port, and started to write his own journals! Pictures, anecdotes, how-tos, small details that weren’t in the original books, scratched out theories and others circled and bolded, he had amassed so much data these past seven years, he was onto his second journal already.

Mabel usually helped him draw portraits and objects, sometimes just writing down comments over his own writing too, but as she was invalided right now, he took it upon himself on sketching the siren for his “on merpeople” entry. Two pages had already been filled with details about mermaids and mermen, courtesy of one Mermando, but sirens, as a cousin specie, were entirely different.

Dipper added what he remembered about pack instinct, how the earplugs didn’t work, the way they could transform their faces, and spent his time ignoring Mabel sketching the yellow siren trapped in its box. Each time he’d look up though, it always met his gaze with its own unblinking stare, and Dipper would duck back down, embarrassed, a shiver of fear crawling up his spine.

He wasn’t as good an artist as his sister, but he thought he’d done a good job. The charcoal accented its angular limbs, shaded the curve of its tail, and Dipper painstakingly took his time to render the shine of its hair. All in all, he was pretty proud of his portrait.

It made him think. What else would he be able to find out if he just asked the creature? It didn’t want to kill him, at least not anymore it would seem, and really, when had Dipper ever passed up on an opportunity?

“Dipper,” he heard Mabel say. “Hey, Dipper.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll drink rum if you don’t go check on the siren.”

His head snapped up as he felt panic rise. Drinking was the last thing that she could do, not with her concussion. Although...

He narrowed his eyes. “You can’t even stand up, let alone _go get_ rum.”

She pouted. “Can too!”

“No, you can’t.”

“No, I can’t...” she looked down, then perked up. “Doesn’t mean I can’t charm one of the men to hand me some!” she grinned.

“They know better than that...” he said slowly. In reality, he doubted they did, and both twins knew it. A pretty lass asks a drunk man for a drink? In what world wouldn’t he?

Mabel simply smiled.

Well now he didn’t really have a choice, did he? She was stubborn and relentless and she always won in the end, he didn’t know why he even bothered most of the time. A visit it was then.

“Urgh. Fiiiiine...” he stood up, clearly grimacing to convey his displeasure. As he walked away, Mabel called out to him.

“Get a bottle to disinfect the wounds!” Her voice was still raw, especially when she tried to yell like so.

He spinned around and made his way towards the middle of the camp. “I knew that...” he grumbled.

So he waded through the circle of men laying on either sand or bedding, and got the rum. Some were unconscious, whilst others were too absorbed in their pain to notice Dipper stepping over them. Most, though, most were silent, glaring at the ground, deep in thought, and Dipper assumed they were re-hashing the night’s events. Frankly, they were all pretty scary, tall and scarred, so he got out of there before any of them could address him. He noticed Grunkle Stan, Soos and Wendy pouring over a map on the other edge of camp, conversing, and thus he breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t get caught doing this.

Ha.

If only the world didn’t hate him so much.

One disturbing conversation, tongue-lashing, and nightmare later, the crew of the Mystery Shack found themselves packing up and heading deeper into the heart of the island.

He never did get to treat the siren, he belatedly thought upon waking up.

The Captain spent the majority of the morning talking (i.e. arguing) with said siren, asking for directions and descriptions of the insides of the forest, to which the sea monster responded that how was _it_ supposed to know? It never got out of the water: that was physically impossible! This basically went on until a little before noon; the Captain prying all he could from the creature, and it stubbornly supporting there was nothing _to_ pry from it.

All they learned was that the sirens had never encountered, seen or heard any other supernatural creatures on the island, and that there were most definitely animals to hunt and eat such as pigs and white-tailed deer. Otherwise, the siren didn’t know much about land. It didn’t even know if there was freshwater, but judging by the size of the isle, Dipper guessed that there was. That didn’t mean the rest of the crew was happy they were following a siren’s directions, though. They all surreptitiously glanced at it as they packed, brooding or glaring and some had even growled under their breath, not that anyone else heard them.

Both he and Mabel spent the morning slowly getting used to walking, him holding her by the elbows before she fell down dizzy, and her supporting him as he limped around. Then Soos came up and handed Dipper a cane – a real, well-crafted one, not just a stick – made out of dark wood with intricate designs of waves and small skulls, and the first mate explained he had carved it during his spare time. Dipper thanked him, and promised not to lose it during their trek inland.

By the time they had to leave, Mabel had recovered enough to not walk around like a drunkard. Her headache had numbed down to a dull, white-noise kind of pain whilst she slept, though she was still too weak to carry anything heavier than a satchel full of ointments and various poultices.

So off they went, Grunkle Stan leading the crew, Wendy chopping off obstructing vegetation with hacks of her cutlass, four men carrying the siren’s box, and the twins trailing not far behind.

The forest was green. Eye-sickeningly so. Tall palm trees and ferns, vines and the occasional orchid; sunlight shone through the leaves enough to comfortably light up the way. Dipper could see the roots to be avoided, branches he needed to duck down from, and he could hear birds chirping around them. The smell of the sea was still as strong as it was on the beach, and he felt relaxed by the whole thing. It wasn’t dark, and it wasn’t creepy, and he felt safe, even if they were in uncharted lands, trapped and surrounded by sirens, one not a few feet away even, injured and tired. But it was a beautiful day, and he really needed a little pick-me-up after everything he went through, so he enjoyed it while it lasted.

Still, when he heard Grunkle Stan swear at the front of the line, he turned back to his sister.

“Mabel,” he whispered.

She looked up from where she was staring at her feet. “Hmm? Something wrong, bro-bro? Your leg’s not hurtin’, is it?”

“No, no, don’t worry,” he reassured her. “But... Um... Have you noticed lately that Grunkle Stan’s been acting a little strange...  _er...?_ ”

She shook her head no, eyes wide. “He seems perfectly fine to me! What is it? Is he sick and not telling us again?” she pouted.

Dipper laughed nervously. “No, I don’t think so. He’s been swearing up a storm since we left.”

Mabel nodded sagely, and tilted her head, wondrous, as she stared at the Captain, still walking.

“Sorry, bro. I don’t see it.” She shrugged.

“It’s just... Man, I don’t know... He hasn’t even told us why we’re _really_ here, right? He doesn’t believe in the treasure, he’s told us _that_ much repeatedly. And now instead of just getting the hell out of here after a _siren attack,_ he’s staying and going even deeper inland!”

Mabel’s lips thinned out in a straight line, and her brows furrowed. She grasped his shoulder, trying to reassure him. “I mean, I see your point, bro, but I’m sure he’s got a good reason...”

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut. “Maybe. I don’t know. I hope so. But then think about it. The siren’s in a box, why is there a box? Did Grunkle Stan plan on capturing a siren? Why did he have a huge glass cage on hand?”

“I...”

“And then there’s yesterday. You weren’t there, but he knew things; things even Grandpa didn’t know! He knew that the siren was still dangerous even if it wasn’t singing, but that wasn’t ever written in the journals! And he didn’t even tell us when he ordered us to stay away from it.”

“Maybe he only learned about it after Grandpa disappeared...” she tried to rationalize her bothers rambling before he started to over-think it again. His volume was steadily rising, so she made hand gestures, palms down, repeatedly as to make him lower it.

“It’s the only explanation, right?” he turned to her, harshly whispering. “He learned stuff about the supernatural after Grandpa left – that’s only logical – but he never wrote anything in the journals. _But why didn’t he at least tell us?_ He knew about the talking, but not about the earplugs? Then why are we here? What’s so important here about sirens that we have to stay?”

“The siren is cursed. The Captain is keeping secrets.”

Both twins’ mouths snapped shut as they looked behind their shoulders.

One of the crewmen, an older gent with greying hair, feeble and half-blind but the closest to a human compass one could be, Dipper remembered; rumored to be able to taste the coming of a storm, and smell the approach of land. Volunteered because he was a widowed drunk with nothing to lose, and a life-long wish for adventure. Dipper suspected that all this, with the sirens and supernatural and whatnot, wasn’t exactly what he had signed up for.

He recognized the man as his lower-deck companion aboard the ship, when he was still resting because of his ankle. The man would mutter incomprehensible stuff half the time, and not speak to anyone for the other. He reminded Dipper of that madman at the markets, but at least this one kept his madness to himself.

“The siren is cursed. The Captain is keeping secrets. From his own family, from his own family. Doomed us all, doomed us all. He doomed us all. The siren is cursed. The Captain is keeping secrets. From his own family, from his own family...”

Then again, maybe not.

Mabel opened her mouth, forehead creased in concern, but Dipper grabbed her by the elbow and led her far away from the man. He shook his head no all the while, and both twins left the poor sailor alone to his mumblings.

That was beyond creepy. And coming from Dipper, that meant a _lot._

They walked as fast as they could – which was to say, not a lot – luckily not stumbling over any protruding roots and finally making their way to the front of the group, slowing down to a stop as they saw Soos. The man was tying a string of leather around a branch when the twins reached him, but was also bobbing his head to a strange beat he was humming to himself. Admittedly, he was still saner than the old man behind, and Dipper was used to his friend’s antics by now anyway.

On their way there though, they had to pass by the siren’s box. Dipper resolutely did not glance at it, not even for a second, and he definitely did not blush when it winked at him, its golden hair floating in the water like a halo, while it was smiling its bright, white, perfectly eve... _dangerous_ teeth. Dangerous. That’s all they were, yes. Not at all charming and just _really dangerous._

Dipper shook his head. _What was wrong with him?_

The rest of the trek went blessedly uneventful. Dipper put his doubts and fears about Grunkle Stan on the back burner until said Grunkle called it a day and ordered to make camp for the night. He didn’t dwell much on the crazy ramblings from the navigator either, and instead let Mabel distract him with her various games and riddles. “I spy with my little eye...” was her definite favourite, though most guesses were trees, and plants, and grass, and leaves, and then it came to a point where it was just _green._

Finally, they settled down in a small space where the trees were only a bit farther apart, and the branches a bit higher too. Sunset’s light flooded the leaf-riddled ground, casting an overall orange and rosy glow. The men dropped to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut, exhausted after a long day’s march, and relieved from the pain of their injuries. The pirates holding up the siren’s cage dropped it under the shade, on the border of camp, then joined the rest of the crew as they were unrolling their bedding and opening bottles of rum. They weren’t too careful about it however, and Dipper almost flinched when he heard a dull _thump_ and the siren letting out a protesting squawk.

And that’s when it hit Dipper.

_What if the siren could make him doubt?_

It had definitely suggested so during their previous encounter; how it didn’t mean to, yet the effects were so _obvious._ Had Dipper not been under its spell, would he be so nervous right now? Probably. Anyone would be. Everyone _was._ He had been anxious ever since the set sail, but never _this_ anxious, and nothing had really changed since then. He hadn’t questioned Grunkle Stan’s decisions before, and something as simple as an untold bit of knowledge shouldn’t have made him so paranoid. But it did.

His train of thought went in circles and loops around his head, unable to arrive at an answering conclusion. The lines of what was him and what wasn’t had been blurred and he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Had his trust really been betrayed, or was he making it up? He considered going to Mabel for advice, but then remembered he already technically had.

He hadn’t noticed that during his musings, he had been directly glaring at the source of his dilemma. He snapped out of it as he caught the siren’s eye, and it waved, grinning, eyes squinted, and Dipper could see its shoulders shake up and down in a silent giggle. Dumbfounded, he numbly waved back, something felt off but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint...

Oh.

_Oh no._

Dipper did not break eye-contact as he reached behind him and tugged at Mabel’s sleeve. She turned around, and Dipper could not stop the trembling in his voice, nor the one in his hands.

“Go get Grunkle Stan,” he said.

She followed his line of sight and settled on the siren. Realization dawned on her quicker than it had for Dipper, and she jumped to her feet, hastily breathing an “okay” and rushing off to find the Captain.

The siren was out of its bonds.

It was out of its bonds, arms free, scratched and bloody with sharp dark nails, Dipper’s bandana tried around its wrist – when did _that_ get there, he hadn’t even noticed it was gone – and Dipper could feel the cold sweat run down his forehead and back as he made his way towards it. Maybe he shouldn’t have done so, the siren wasn’t even singing him over so he couldn’t blame it on that, but _someone_ had to keep it from luring sailors into an untimely shredding, is what he told himself. Though, as per the deal, it shouldn’t use its powers. He still pulled out his dagger from where it hung low on is hip, just in case.

The day he’d trust a supernatural creature was the day Grunkle Stan would show off his secret tattoo. And that he’d admit he liked children.

The siren smiled pleasantly as Dipper limped up to it. It curiously glanced at the cane, tilting its head sideways, but visibly darkened as it spotted the blade held in the other hand. Still, it looked back up, smile plastered once again, though a little less bright this time.

“What can I do for you today, Pine Tree?” it said.

That nickname again. Dipper didn’t understand it, and he was curious to ask. He quickly shoved the thought away however, as he remembered what happened last time he had been inquisitive.

“What happened to your bonds?” he asked instead. His grip on the dagger tightened, and his whole body tensed in anticipation of a fight.

The siren simply shrugged. “They were getting awfully painful, especially when those ruffians kept on jostling the box. So I got rid of them!” It massaged its wrists. “It’s a useful skill to have, I’ll have you know. Not one I was hoping to use again, never ever, but then things never go as you expect them to, isn’t that right?”

Dipper felt someone grabbed his shoulder, and next thing he knew he was being shoved backwards. Grunkle Stan stepped in front of him.

“Kid, I swear to God, I _will_ tie you to the mast if it’ll keep you from talking to this slimey bastard!” he threatened.

“But...”

“Leave, Dipper.” The Captain gave him a meaningful look, and Dipper was in tune enough with his sense of déjà vu to not argue this time around.

Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a right to know.

He walked back toward the camp, where Mabel was wringing her hands nervously. She perked up as she saw him, and scrambled to join him halfway. He, however, held a finger to his lips before she could open her mouth, and pointed to his right, motioning for her to follow him as he doubled-back to where Grunkle Stan and the siren were arguing.

Both twins crouched down behind a couple of roots cascading down a small mound, mindful of Dipper’s foot. Mabel tapped on her brother’s shoulder, confusion evident on her face, mouthing “why?”. All he did was point towards the squabbling pair, as if that would answer her question. She rolled her eyes and settled for spying on her uncle. Her brother was just weird that way.

“... and besides,” they heard the siren say, “I’ll just untie myself anyway, so there’s really no reason for you to bother! Just go do what you pirates do when you’re not kidnapping sirens for the hell of it! Why'd you even _do_ that?”

“Not for you to know!" the Captain spat. He raised his hands. "All I need is tie the rope tighter. Now hold still!” Grunkle Stan lunged for siren. It scrambled back, tail sloshing the water over the edge of the box, as it tried to push itself out of the Captain’s reach.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Mabel yelled, and Dipper jumped at the sudden noise.

Both Captain and siren paused, staring wide-eyed at the two previously hidden kids, one standing tall with her arms crossed, the other flat on the ground and groaning in regret. _So much for being discreet,_ Dipper mentally sighed.

Mabel briskly walked towards the now-silent pair, and held her ground between the both of them, glaring up at her uncle. Dipper, on the other hand, took his time to get back up.

“Excuse me, miss?” Grunkle Stan narrowed his eyes.

“You heard me! Leave it alone!” she positioned her hands on her hips. “It’s hurt and probably scared! Just look at it!” she waved in the general direction behind her. “It spent the whole day being shoved around in a box, and it’s been tied up for two days now!”

“But...”

“No! Not gonna hear it!” she jabbed her finger on his chest.”We already know it’s not going to hurt us, so we’re not going to treat it like a prisoner anymore, okay? That means no gag and no binds.”

A normal Captain would’ve been enraged at such an act of defiance, Dipper thought. A normal Captain wouldn’t have hesitated to put her in her place. A _cruel_ Captain could have even sentenced her to a number of lashes. But then this was Mabel, and this was Grunkle Stan. Not only would he never hurt her – not his favourite, sweet, little niece – he even seemed sheepish, if you knew where to look. Otherwise, he just seemed his usual grumpy self, but that was Grunkle Stan for you, Dipper guessed.

“Fine,” he huffed. He pivoted around and stomped back towards the settlement, where a number of crewmen seemed to have stopped what they had been doing to watch the events before them unfold. “Well? What’re ye doin’, ye useless freebooters?!” he yelled. “Get back to work!”

All stuttered and scrambled, expressly avoiding looking at any of the Pines family members. Dipper’s arms loosely hung beside his body, shoulders hunched, and he sighed. Now they made a scene, and that’s all everybody was going to talk about for the following days. Bugger.

“Thank you, Shooting Star,” they heard the siren say behind them. Both turned around, and saw the creature genuinely and nicely smiling up at them, gripping the sides of its box, and Dipper noticed how raw its wrists looked. He winced in sympathy, rubbing his own wrists unconsciously.

Mabel winked. “You save my life, I save yours! Guess we're even now!”

“Hmm. Wouldn't call that very life-saving, but I suppose so!” the siren beamed back.

She skipped away, leaving Dipper alone with the sea monster. Its attention veered off onto him.

“I... Um...” he scratched the back of his head. “I think I’ll... go... now...”

He left.

Later that day, nursing a bottle of rum as the men around him chanted and cheered, his eyes snapped open as a terrifying thought crossed his mind.

_What if it had manipulated Mabel into defending it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really friggin' long holy shit
> 
> Anyways, yeah. There's probably a tons of typos in there since I just finished writing this (I might go back and edit some very minor stuff like choice of adverbs and adjectives tomorrow. If I do, I'll let you guys know on tumblr) , but I'm too tired to re-read right now, so please point them out if you find any!!! Thank you!
> 
> EDIT: Corrected a few things here and there, mainly sentence structure.


	6. Major

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A'ight, so this chapter features two different songs, so here are the links for both of them!  
> [Derby Ram](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXsU53Veupw)  
> and  
> [Down Among the Dead Men](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7M9mi3bV9c)

He couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

In fact, he couldn’t get _many_ thoughts out of his head, but the Mabel one really took the cake. He almost dropped his bottle in shock, but had luckily recovered just in time to avoid the resulting crash. Instead, he jumped to his feet, and pushed his way across camp to where his sister sat, chatting and drinking away in the company of Wendy. He had to know. He had to make sure his sister wasn’t still under some kind of spell.

The crew had settled in for the night, and had also decided to celebrate their continued survival with a rambunctious affair involving lots of dancing, lots of singing, and _lots_ of rum. Not an hour in, and most were already inanely drunk. Dipper, on the other hand, had only been sipping at his drink, observing the crowd, too shy to participate as of yet. A calming buzz warmed his body however, but he wasn’t so much afflicted as to start singing yet, especially when he normally couldn’t hit a note if his life depended on it.

He was tempted, however, to whack the ankles of two drunken sailors dancing, if only it got them out of the way. He squeezed his way through between them instead, before stumbling to a stop in front of his sister. Upon seeing him, and the look of panic on his face, Wendy excused herself, mumbling something about maps and the Captain. Dipper took her seat on the ground next to Mabel, mindful of his leg that he left extended in front of him, and snatched her bottle away before she could take another swig.

“You’re not supposed to drink, Mabel,” he said.

“Oh, boo!” She reached for her drink but Dipper pulled away, leaning back. She pouted and crossed her arms. “It’s just water, bro-bro! Take a sip if you don’t believe me.”

He did. It didn’t taste like anything, certainly not alcohol, so he slowly gave it back, still squinting and suspicious nonetheless. Mabel snatched it back, sticking her tongue out.

“Where’d you even get freshwater?” Dipper asked.

“Mystery Shack’s supplies. Wendy brought a few flasks for until we find a source.”

She took a swig.

Dipper stayed silent, staring, calculating, trying to find _some kind_ of sign that his sister was alright. Or not alright. How the hell could one tell anyways? He started to bite his nails.

“Okay, Dipper,” she sighed. “You’re being creepy again. What’s wrong?”

He considered just telling her nothing was wrong, why would anything be wrong, what are you on about, I’m not being creepy, _you’re being creepy,_ but he knew he’d feel bad for lying if he did so. She was looking at him with earnest concern, and he’d get nothing out of simply staring, so he just decided _fuck it_ and asked.

“Why’d you stand up for the siren like that?” He practically whispered the question, so quiet that Mabel had to lean in to hear him properly.

She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “Is that what’s bothering you?” she shrugged. “It didn’t do anything _wrong._ And honestly, we’ve treated _prisoners_ better than that before!”

“Yeah, but are you _sure?”_

She looked at him like he had sprung a second head then and there. “What do you mean, am I _sure?”_

“Are you sure it didn’t do anything wrong? Do you _really really_ think that?”

“Dipper, what are you on about?”

Oh, great. Deflecting the question. That bode well.

“Are you sure the siren didn’t _make_ you want to protect it. Like it did for me? Are you sure your feelings are your own. Even now, are you sure you’re not under some kind of spell?” He would’ve had even shook her by the shoulders to stress his point if she hadn’t been concussed.

Now Mabel really was lost. She leaned back, pondering, but still confused. “Um... I don’t know...? I don’t think so?” Her eyes widened. “Oh no. What if I _was?_ Oh my god _,_ Dipper, _what if I was?!”_

She started flailing her arms around, before griping her hair with clenched fists, a look of utter horror painted across her face. Dipper scrambled to comfort her and pulled her in for a hug.

“Shhhh...” he pried her hands away from her hair and start to pet the sore spots. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s not going to last forever, don’t worry. We can just go see Grunkle Stan and fix everything up, okay?”

Mabel slowly nodded. Yeah, that sounded alright. She didn’t want to be a siren’s puppet until the day she died, and she _definitely_ didn’t want to put everyone in danger by keeping the creature free. Dipper knew what he was talking about. “How’d _you_ know you were under a spell?” she whispered.

“I didn’t. At the time, at least.” He tried to describe it, but couldn’t find the words. He pulled away, still thinking. ”It felt... When the spell faded, it was like I woke up from a dream. Like when you’re just half-awake, aware that you’re in bed, but your dream is still running, and then suddenly everything just fades away in a split-second and you’re awake.”

Mabel giggled softly. “That’s weird.”

Dipper sniffed. “ _You’re_ weird.”

They both laughed, and Dipper breathed a sigh of relief. _Crisis averted, thank god._ Mabel was calming down, and judging by her reaction, she wasn’t still under the siren’s influence. Dipper felt kind of guilty to rejoice in her panic, but it _did_ indicate she was in her right mind.

“So...” he began. “Should we go find Grunkle Stan and tie the siren up again?”

Mabel straightened, before rubbing her face and shaking her head. “No, it’s alright. I don’t think I was manipulated.” Her brother opened his mouth. “And yes, Dipper, I’m sure.”

“Really really?”

She smiled. “Really really. It didn’t feel like I snapped awake from a dream, like you said, or anything else like that, so I guess I really _do_ think the siren’s an okay guy.”

“If you say so, Mabel,” he said.

Part of him wasn’t surprised that his twin thought so highly of the sea monster. The other part still feared that the girl in front of him _wasn’t_ exactly his sister, but he dismissed those thoughts with a shake of the head. She panicked, she doubted, and that meant she was herself.

That’s when a sailor’s foot caught Dipper’s leg, and the man fell flat onto the ground in a mass of drunken limbs.

 _Fucking ouch_.

Dipper yelped in pain, clutching his leg, as the other crewman simply started to snore right then and there.

Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes as he remembered that there was a party going on around him. Through fuzzy vision, he saw the crew dancing and drinking in the middle of camp, twirling around arm in arm and chugging down bottle after bottle of rum.

“Hey, boys!” he heard one of the crewmen shout. The man stood on a mound in the middle of camp, circled by the other sailors, and waving around his bottle of rum like he was the king’s announcer.

 _“Oh, as I was going to Derby, ‘twas on a market day,”_ he sang.

_I met the finest ram, sirs, that ever was fed upon hay_

The rest of the crew joined in, holding their bottles up cheering as they bellowed out the lyrics.

 _That’s a lie, that’s a lie_ _  
That’s a lie, lie, lie_

Mabel kicked the man at her feet, scowling. “Oi, watch were ye going, you stupid good-for-nothing drunk!”

The man blinked his eyes open at the disturbance, before both groaning and laughing at the same time, somehow. “Sorry, miss!” he said as he stood back up. “Tell you what.”

He plunked back down onto the ground next to sharpshooter, and slung an arm across her shoulders. He leaned in, breath ghosting across Mabel’s cheek and she grimaced at the horrible smell. “Why don’t I make it up to ya tonight, darlin’, what d’ye say?”

At his lecherous grin, she didn’t hesitate to punch him square in the face.

“Mabel!” Dipper blinked away the tears and pushed himself forward. He grabbed his sister by the elbow and tried to pull her back before she could inflict any more damage, but she kicked out anyways, effectively hitting the man in the ribs. He didn’t even groan. The sailor was knocked out cold on the ground and didn’t seem like he was going to get back up anytime soon.

“Mystery Shack rules,” Mabel sneered. “You don’t flirt with the Captain’s niece...”

“Oh, not this again,” Dipper sighed.

“The Captain’s niece flirts with _you.”_

“You know, I’m all for you defending yourself, but could you please not injure our crew further than they already are?”

She turned around and stuck out her tongue. “But he hurt _you!_ ”

“Yeah, well...”

“Are you okay? Let me see your ankle.”

“No, hey! Wait--no--I’m fine! HEY!”

Mabel kneeled next to him and pulled up the hem of his pants. She ignored any and all of her brother’s protests and batted away Dipper’s hands when he tried to hide his injury again.

His ankle had been wrapped in whatever excess bandage wasn’t being used for cuts or slings. It effectively kept him for moving it too much and risk tearing a ligament or some other thing. Still, even if most of the skin was covered in white cloth, the sheer size of it was enough to scare a small animal.

Sighing in defeat, Dipper leaned back, propping himself up by his arms. He let Mabel do her thing, as she carefully turned his foot side to side, looking for _something_ though Dipper doubted she knew what. He tuned back in with his surroundings, and watched as the sailor in the middle of camp still sung his chantey. The man was completely red-faced and tilting precariously to the left as he stumbled from side to side, too drunk to even finish his stanzas without hiccupping.

_The night was very rough, sir, the wind like ice it feel  
He borrowed me suit of oilskins and took me trick at the wheel_

Mabel poked the bandages. Dipper almost kicked her.

“That hurt?”

“What do you _think?”_ he hissed between clenched teeth.

“Well,” she shrugged. “If anything, it’s just a bit swollen, that’s all.” She glared back over her shoulder to the unconscious man lying there. “He didn’t hurt you _that much,_ lucky him.”

The crew around them chanted.

 _That’s a lie, that’s a lie_ _  
That’s a lie, lie, lie_

Dipper laughed under his breath at his sister’s overprotectiveness. (It didn’t occur to him that he was just as bad.) Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted both his and Mabel’s bottles resting on the grass next to him, and he gingerly picked both of them up, handing the water to his sister, himself reclining onto one hand and taking a sip of his rum.

“So. We’re okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re okay.” She flashed a small smile to him and he grinned back.

They both fell silent, watching the rest of the crew degenerate into a state of drunken decadence, letting the sunset’s light illuminate the forest in a last orange glow. They didn’t speak a word for hours, content in simply sipping at their drinks, until the night fell and the moon rose high. They didn’t move either, simply staying on the outskirts of the “dance floor” as they called it, getting progressively more drunk as they finished bottle after bottle. Or well, Dipper that is. Mabel wasn’t allowed to be anything but sober.  

Dipper was on his... oh, what was it now, he lost count... fifth- _sixth_ bottle when he decided to stand up again? He struggled to find his footing as Mabel laughed, all the while cursing the stupid ground — would you stop tilting please? — his stupid fucking ankle, his stupid fucking cane — no, not stupid fucking cane, Soos made it, the cane is wonderful — and that stupid _stupid_ Gideon. It was all his fault. _Everything_ was his fault. Getting stuck on an island? His fault. Swollen ankle? His fault. Being attracted to a really creepy and really dangerous siren? _Absolutely_ his fault.

Mabel only laughed harder. “Oh my _god,_ Dipper!” She tried to wiggle her eyebrows but failed miserably. She couldn’t stop laughing.

“It... It totally is!” he practically yelled, words slurring together. He stumbled side to side before finding balance by heavily leaning on his cane. He tried to hold the thing with both hands, but frowned as his bottle of rum clinked against the wood. Why was he still holding his bottle of rum? He held it up to his face.

It wasn’t empty. In fact, it was practically full.

He shrugged, and let his hand fall back to his side. He’d drink it later.

Then it hit him. He blinked. “Did I say that out loud?”

Mabel vigorously nodded as she clutched her stomach.

He pointed a finger at her, frowning and furious, trying to look intimidating, but only succeeded into tripping and crashing into her. He fell in a tangle of limbs, but luckily his sister was clear-minded enough to catch him.

“Don’t... Don’t tell Grunkle Stan...” he mumbled in her shoulder. He could feel it shake as she tried to stifle her laughing. He heard her wheeze before she seemed to calm down enough as to actually be able produce words.

He looked up, and saw her smiling down at him. It wasn’t a very nice smile, he thought. It was the kind of smile that scared him actually. He didn’t know why.

“I won’t tell Grunkle Stan if you go see the siren,” she sing-sang.

Oh.

That was why.

“But... Whyyyyyy?” he whined.

She grinned down at him, eyes full of evil.

“Because you just admitted to have a crush on someone! That _never_ happens!”

“Does so!”

“The last one was seven years ago, Dipper. We were twelve. We did not even _know_ what love was. My point stands.” She pushed him away and turned him around whilst wiggling her eyebrows. “Now, go!”

“How could you?!” he cried, but he started to walk away nonetheless. “You’re sending me to my death, you know!”

“No, I’m not!” she called after him. “You’re perfectly safe!”

“If I die, I’m taking you off my will!”

“You don’t _have_ a will, dumb-dumb!”

“And I’m not attracted!”

“Just go, already!”

He did.

“I’m not attracted...” he grumbled as he made his way to the edge of camp. “I’m really not... He just has a stupid face.”

Dipper had to walk to the other side of the festivities to reach the siren he knew was somewhere around there. He struggle to walk in a straight line, but somehow managed to not trip and fall on some ill-placed rock or root. Just as he made his way past the last few sleeping sailors though, he heard a loud clamour rise behind him. He turned around, and saw a bunch of men practically throw one of their friends in the middle of the dance floor, onto the small mound that served as a stage, whilst screaming for an encore. The rest of the pirates started to chant in unison.

Belatedly, Dipper recognized the poor man as the one who had first started singing earlier on in the day.

The sailor was noticeably even more drunk than he was before. He started singing off-key, though most were too drunk to be bothered by it.

 _Oh, as I was going to Derby, ‘twas on a market day_ _  
I met the finest ram, sirs, that ever was fed upon hay_

Everyone cheered and followed in with the next lyrics.

 _That’s a lie, that’s a lie_ _  
That’s a lie, lie, lie_

Dipper smiled and turned back around. He pushed his way into the forest, though not too far away from the campsite, only through a few trees, and finally found the siren, curled up in its box right where they had left it.

 _This ram and I got drunk, sir, as drunk as drunk could be_ _  
And when we sobered up, sir, we were far away out at sea_

He didn’t feel like going up to it just yet, so he simply leaned on a nearby tree and stared at it. The light of the lanterns shone on its skin, making it look even more golden than it already was. Both its hair and scales glittered, and from where Dipper was standing, the siren did indeed look like it had been pulled right out of a fairytale.

 _I’m not attracted,_ he reminded himself. _Even if I said so. Mabel just blows everything out of proportion._

If he wasn’t drunk, maybe Dipper could’ve been able to elaborate on that. Explain how he feared the creature, how in fact he probably hated the siren’s guts, and how his attraction was only a product of the monster’s powers, even if he wasn’t under its spell right now.

 _That’s a lie, that’s a lie_ _  
That’s a lie, lie, lie_

He pushed himself forward, taking the last few steps between him and the box and coming to a stop next to the siren. It didn’t seem to notice him, strangely enough, and stayed curled up, head hunched over, hands over ears, muttering some incomprehensible thing while rocking back and forth.

Dipper frowned. “Oi, what’s wrong with you?”

It didn’t even glance at him.

 _This wonnerful ol’ ram, sir, was playful as a kid_ _  
He swallowed the captain’s spyglass along with the bo’sun’s fid_

He managed to poke it in the arm, effectively making it jump and pulling it out of whatever trance it was in. The siren looked back up at him, squinting, before its eyes went wide and it went back to covering its ears.

“The hell do _you_ want?” it harshly bit back.

“You’re acting supi--soospic--supicso... You’re acting weird. You’re not using your powers are you?” Dipper swayed side to side as he spoke. Maybe he should sit down for a bit.

“HA!” The siren flipped its head back in a jerk. Dipper flinched at the sudden reaction. “I should, shouldn’t I? All drunk and unable to fight. You’re lucky I’m so nice.”

 _That’s a lie, that’s a lie_ _  
That’s a lie, lie, lie_

“You’re not nice. You’re like, the opposite of nice. You’re a fucking asshole.” He pointed a finger at it accusingly.

The siren raised an eyebrow. “Wow, Pine Tree. Didn’t peg you for an honest drunk,” it snorted.

“Yeah, well...” the ground suddenly tilted over and Dipper lost his balance. He plunked over on the ground, facing the box. “Why _aren’t you_ using your powers?”

_The night was very rough, sir, the wind like ice it feel  
He borrowed me suit of oilskins and took me trick at the wheel_

“Because then I’d be stuck in the middle of a forest with a bunch of corpses. I don’t fancy spending the rest of my life in a box you know.”

“Oh.”

“Hmm.”

Dipper tilted his head to the side, curious. “Why are you covering your ears?”

The siren growled. It friggin’ _growled_ at him before giving him the stink-eye. “Because you pirates are idiotic morons, that’s why!”

“Huh?”

 “You sing!” It threw its hands up in the air in frustration, before realizing that wasn’t exactly a good idea and slapped his hands on the side of its head again. “You sing with a siren not even a few feet away, and you expect me to not join in?! I’ve been at it for hours! It certainly doesn’t help that this idiot over there can’t even hit a note.”

 _That’s a lie, that’s a lie_ _  
That’s a lie, lie, lie_

“Urgh...” it continued, squeezing its eyes shut. “And the _cheering.”_

The siren _did_ look like it was in pain. Actual, physical pain, though Dipper didn’t understand how _singing_ could hurt someone. Sirens were different however, so he guessed a lot of things were bound to be different too.

 _One morning on the poop, sir, afore eight bells was struck_ _  
He climbed up to the sky’s yard an’ sat down on the truck_

“Sing for me then,” he said.

The siren stared at him, astonished and slack-jawed, before it seemed to pick itself up, mouth clicking shut. “Honest _and_ stupid!” it cackled. “Oh, boy! How are you even still alive?!”

“Oh, piss off,” he grumbled. “I was trying to be nice.”

The creature peered over at him, amused. “Are you even going to remember this, Pine Tree?”

“I sure hope not.”

 _That’s a lie, that’s a lie_ _  
That’s a lie, lie, lie_

He scooted over towards the box and lay his back against it. It was warm, strangely enough, but the siren said nothing, so he gathered he wasn’t bothering it _too_ much. They simply sat there, content in watching the crew sing and party late into the night. The sea monster didn’t start muttering in his native language again, so Dipper counted that as a win.

It felt nice, being here.

He let his eyes slip close, too drunk to even notice that such a thought wasn’t normal.

 _Ah, this wonnerful ‘ol ram, sir, he tried a silly trick_ _  
He tried to jump a five-barred fence and lan--_

“Move over, ye screeching barfly! Yer makin’ our ears bleed!”

Dipper’s eyes snapped open at the yell, and saw Wendy push the previously singing man off the mound. He landed roughly on the floor with an ‘oof!’ before picking himself up and stumbling to the edge of the dance floor.

“I’ll show you how it’s done!” she yelled.

She chugged down the remainder of her drink and started to sing.

 _Here's a health to the king and lasting peace_  
_To faction end, to wealth increase_  
_Come let us drink while we have breath_  
_For there's no drinking after death_

Dipper cheered along with the rest of the crew, laughing in delight. He felt drops of water fall onto his shoulder and turned around, gazing over his shoulder at the siren watching Wendy’s performance. Its hands had dropped to grip the edge of its box, and it was as if there were flames in its eyes as they reflected the lantern light. It looked back down to him and smiled.

“She sings well,” it said.

Dipper grinned. “Oh, yeah. She’s amazing.”

 _And he that will this health deny_  
_Down among the dead men_  
_Down among the dead men_  
_Down, down, down, down_  
_Down among the dead men let him lie_

Dipper glanced at the bottle of rum in his hand. Suddenly, an idea popped up in his head and he turned around to face the siren.

“Scoot over, will you?”

The siren frowned at him. “Excuse me?”

“Scoot over. You’re still injured, right? Let me see your back.”

“What? No! I don’t—“

Dipper didn’t want to hear about it. Is this how it was like for Mabel? He crawled over to the end of the box, grabbing the creature by the shoulder and turning it around. He gagged a bit upon seeing the dark long gashes running down its back, but didn’t hesitate before splashing it with the alcohol in hand.

 _In smiling Bacchuses, joy high roll_  
_Deny no pleasures to my soul_  
_The Bacchus is health 'round briskly move_  
_For Bacchus is the friend of love_

The siren hissed and flung its arm behind it, nails practically claws now as it tried to get Dipper away. “What the _fuck?!”_ it yelled.

“I’m disinfecting your injuries, nitwit. Now stay still. You’ll thank me later.”

Dipper frowned in concentration. There were scratches both on its back and front, with bruises blooming in a ring around its neck and collarbone. He took off his jacket off and rolled it up in a tight ball, soaking it in rum. He used it to dab over the siren’s wounds, all the while ignoring its hiss of pain as he did so.

“Oh, get a grip you big baby,” he said.

“Screw you! What are you even _doing?_ ”

“Disinfecting your injuries. Like I said.”

“Why the fuck does it hurt so much then?”

“I dunno,” he made a derisive noise. “It's just supposed to.”

“Hmph.”

 _And he that would this health deny_  
_Down among the dead men_  
_Down among the dead men_  
_Down, down, down, down_  
_Down among the dead men let him lie_

The next ten minutes were spent like this, Dipper carefully pressing against the siren’s injuries, and said siren silently fuming with its arms crossed. They were both stuck in their own little bubble, oblivious to the world around them, as the men around them kept on dancing. Wendy finished her song and stepped down, and the party went on and on on its merry way.

 _This isn’t so bad,_ Dipper thought. Through the haze that was his mind at the moment, he couldn’t remember why he was so averse to getting along with the sea creature. _He’s been nice,_ a little voice that sounded strangely like Mabel said in the back of his head. _He hasn’t tried to eat me yet. That’s nice. And it looks like he’s actually making an effort to keep his word. That’s also nice._

He started to nod off.

_This is very, very nice._

He shook himself awake when he heard someone clear their throat. Blood rushed to his face when he noticed that he had fallen asleep right on top of the siren. The hand holding his rum-soaked jacket had stilled on the monster’s lower back, and he was hunched over, pressing his forehead against its nape. It was a good thing that the creature couldn’t see him right now, because he didn’t think he could blame his red face on the alcohol this time.

“You okay there, Pine Tree?” the siren asked. Its head was turned away from him, so Dipper couldn’t see the embarrassment painted across its face.

“Yeah, no, I’m...” he yawned. “I’m okay. I think I’ll call it a night.”

The siren’s shoulders shook up and down in a silent laugh. Dipper eyeballed the gashes before him, not quite satisfied yet but he didn’t think he had the energy to do anything more. They were clean now, at least, and instead of big splotches of blood, they were only thin red lines rolling down the sea creature’s shoulder blades.

“We’re gonna have to bandage that, I think,” he said.

“Uh-huh? You can do that tomorrow, Pine Tree.”

In reminiscence, Dipper should’ve gotten up then. Instead, for some reason, he decided to stay put. The ground looked comfy, soft grass, not too far from camp, and he really didn’t feel like stumbling his way back over to his cot. He dropped down and rolled over on his back, gazing up at the stars in-between the leaves over him.

“Hey,” he said, turning his face around to peer over at the siren. “Hey, you...uh... what’s-your-name?”

The siren raised an eyebrow at him. “Bill, kid.”

“Bilkid? What kind of name is that?”

“No, dumbass, my name’s _Bill_.”

Dipper snorted. “Seriously?”

The siren – _Bill_ – sniffed. “What’s wrong with Bill?”

“Oh, nothing” the boy giggled. “It’s just so... so _human.”_

“Your name is _Dipper,”_ Bill said condescendingly. “What’s _your_ excuse?”

He laughed. It wasn’t even funny, but he laughed anyway.

“You have a stupid face.”

Bill sighed. “Go to sleep, Pine Tree.”

“Yeah, okay...”

Dipper closed his eyes and breathed in the sea’s smell, letting sleep slowly take over him.

He had nice dreams that night, for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been over a month since I've updated this, I am SO sorry!!!! But hey, everyone's been very supportive and understanding and now I'm back baby!!!! Thank you all so much! ^^
> 
> Also, I've got about a month worth of really cool ficart so check it out!!!  
> [By xxsleepygamersxx](http://xxsleepygamersxx.tumblr.com/post/118390119101/doodles-for-a-bunch-of-aus-i-like-third-one-is)  
> [By sergeant-a](http://sergeant-a.tumblr.com/post/118474352834/got-bored-in-school-so-i-doodled-some-more-bill-in)  
> [By crispych0colate](http://crispych0colate.tumblr.com/post/118548130385/story-behind-this-is-a-funny-one-a-friend-at)  
> [By drag-queen-jesus](http://drag-queen-jesus.tumblr.com/post/118504646782/there-are-some-things-i-really-like-here-and)  
> [By surernova1998](http://surernova1998.tumblr.com/post/118719137583/this-is-my-fan-art-it-took-me-3-days-i-think)  
> [By demon-of-all-dreams](http://demon-of-all-dreams.tumblr.com/post/119053547490/oops-i-forgot-to-put-it-on-here-well-here)  
> [By sergeant-a](http://marshonthemellow.tumblr.com/tagged/I-like-the-lighting-it%27s-so-peaceful) (redirected to my blog, because I can't seem to find the original URL)  
> [By maplespyderart](http://maplespyderart.tumblr.com/post/120557891782/hhhhhhh-siren-billlllllll-fanart-for-off)


	7. Progression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY CANADA DAY FOR ALL MY CANADIAN BRETHREN OUT THERE!!!!!!!!!
> 
> I'd like to give special thanks to crispych0colate for beta-reading this chapter, even though I was extremely late to the party and made her loose a few hours of sleep D: so sorry

Something changed that night.

Bill couldn’t pinpoint _what_ exactly, nor why or how, but it was like a switch had been flipped inside Pine Tree’s mind. The siren hadn’t appreciated the little stunt the kid had pulled the night before (even if pain was hilarious, but he digressed), far from him the idea of actually _thanking_ the boy, but even he had to admit that it was nice not be caked in dried blood anymore. It was a miracle the water in the box hadn’t turned red during the day.

That’s why he decided to be nice to the kid, at least for the night. He made sure Pine Tree was to have good dreams: chasing some non-descript creature through some island’s woods; the thrill of adventure whilst suppressing any fear of danger or harm.

Bill didn’t delve into it too much.

Forests were quickly becoming hateful, horrible, _vile_ things to him.

Come the morning, the boy slowly blinked his eyes open, before shutting them tight, groaning, and rolling over. His hands flew up to his temples, and he stayed there, stock-still with his face scrunched up in a semblance of pain, right up until he heard his name being called out by who Bill assumed was his sister.

The boy picked himself up slowly with a long drawn-out groan. He glanced up to Bill, confusion flashing past his face before he yawned and walked away.

Bill had expected shock or anger of some sort. That was, after all, the default attitude the boy seemed to have around the siren. He didn’t expect Pine Tree to remember anything from the previous night, and had prepared himself accordingly to deal with the wild accusations that were sure to come.

Half an hour later, the boy came back with a roll of bandages.

He plopped down behind Bill and didn’t say a word. The siren kept his mouth shut too, bracing himself for _some_ sort of backlash for the events of last night — glaring, spitting, insults, threats, suspicious prodding — but nothing came. Instead, Pine Tree silently wrapped his back, neck and shoulder in white cloth, efficiently and cleanly, before Bill just had to point out the flaw in what was being done here.

“You realize they’re just going to get soaked, right?” he said, glancing down at the water that came at just about waist-level, where skin morphed into scales.

He felt Pine Tree’s hands still to a stop, before the boy groaned out a curse and lowered his head in defeat.

“Damn it,” he whispered.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” Bill continued. “But while it’s the thought that counts, it’s still just a thought.”

“Can’t you just...” Pine Tree made a sound of frustration. “Can’t the box just stay open?”

Bill considered this for a moment. He shrugged. “I certainly wouldn’t mind, but I think the rest of your crew might have something to say about that.”

Indeed, although Pine Tree seemed to have a sudden and unexplained change of heart, the same couldn’t be said for the other pirate men. Out of gag and out of binds in only two days _might’ve_ been a bit too fast, in retrospect. The men were uneasy; scared even; fidgeting and skittish, and Bill didn’t even have to lift a finger for them to have nightmares. 

Pine Tree glared in direction of the camp. “Hmm... Yeah, wouldn’t want a mutiny.”

“What’s that?” Bill turned around, curious.

The boy stared at him with wide eyes, clearly surprised for some reason, but answered nonetheless.

So Bill didn’t understand the finer details of pirate life, big deal. It’s not like he _wanted_ to know, but current situations called for some new insights.

“It’s when sailors rebel against their Captain and take control of the ship,” Pine Tree said. “If they succeed, they usually make the Captain walk the plank, or send him off in a rowboat with little to no food or water.”

Bill squinted at the choice of words. “ _’Walk the plank_?”

“Whoever walks the plank has to jump off a diving board and into the ocean. Sometimes, there are sharks, and sometimes they’re weighted down if the crew particularly hates them.” Pine Tree looked to the side, scratching his cheek.

Bill’s face split into a grin. “Sounds fun!”

The boy leaned back almost reflexively at the siren’s sharp teeth, before grimacing and shaking his head. “No... _not_ fun. If the person is lucky enough to be dropped off near an island, they’ll still probably die of hunger. Even _you’ve_ got to be able to empathize with that.”

He could.

By _Calypso_ , he could.

Bill’s mouth clicked shut as he turned back around, not deeming Pine Tree’s comment with any sort of answer. He didn’t see the boy’s frown of confusion, or the apology starting to form on his lips.

“Just get the bandages off, will you?” he asked.

Pine Tree huffed, but complied nonetheless.

Bill closed his eyes as memory upon memory flashed through his mind. Days, _weeks_ with no food as he made his way from north to south; strange new animals, predators he mistook for prey, nibbling on disgusting seaweed he had no choice but to eat. He scowled and pursed his lips, doing his best to try and dispel the images his brain was conjuring up. To distract himself, he thought back to the night before; not his encounter with the drunken Pine Tree, though that was going to need some reviewing later _,_ but rather what happened after the boy had gone to sleep.

It was easy to zap himself into the young pirate’s subconscious, and even easier to set everything up for a nice, lucid-proof dream. He considered cleaning up the clutter even, but decided against it. Sorting through what were memories, what were useful tidbits of trivia, and what was simply junk was going to take hours if not all night, and honestly Bill had more pressing matters to attend to.

Checking up on the family was one of them, for instance.

The farther they were, the harder it was to infiltrate other people’s dreams, but Bill managed regardless. Half the sirens were still awake, on the lookout or patrolling around the island looking for the pirates, whilst the others were dead asleep in their coral nests. Unsurprisingly, he had trouble finding the dreamscapes, all blurred up and blipping in and out of his sight, but the first one he was successfully able to get into was Tad Strange’s and _boy_ did he get a warm welcome.

“ _You’ve got some nerve, Cipher!”_ The purple siren slammed Bill into a coral reef wall and pinned him there by the throat. “ _I was wondering when you’d show up, you absolute piece of shit.”_

Bill clutched at the hand around his neck, but to no avail. It didn’t really matter though, since oxygen wasn’t really a thing in dreams. “ _Cipher, huh?”_ he grinned. _“Should I start calling you Strange then, cousin dearest?”_

 “ _YOU RUINED A PERFECTLY GOOD FEAST!”_

_“If you could just let me explain—“_

_“The children are_ starving, _Bill! Do you have any idea of what you’ve cost them, cost_ us _?!”_ Tad’s expression was practically desperate then, hurt and betrayed, and Bill almost felt just a little bit guilty.

Tad didn’t deserve it. Much. He took care of the kids, the elderly and the pregnant. Their education, nutrition, comfort and safety; he was a nervous wreck half the time and an annoying bastard the other. Of course, he might’ve been unnaturally altruistic for his species, but he was still a siren nonetheless. Lazy afternoons lying on rocks and bathing in the sun, pranking his peers (or Bill more specifically) and hunting fish for sport were typical of him too. He was the one who had found Bill hiding from a shark that wasn’t there anymore, and the first one to have welcomed him into the community.

Right now, though, the siren looked tired. He was sleeping and he _still_ looked like he was on the verge of exhaustion. His skin was pale, with deep dark bags under his eyes, and it didn’t seem like he even had the energy to keep up a human facade. His teeth were too long, too sharp, his lips blue almost black, and his eyelids were practically translucent.

Yeah, Bill might’ve felt a little bit guilty after all.

But then he remembered that he didn’t have to.

He snarled. _“They can survive on shrimp and fish. You can_ all _survive on shrimp and fish. Don’t be spoiled brats.”_

Tad pushed himself away, pulling at his hair before throwing his hands up in the air. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. “ _Arnold_ _sulked off Calypso knows where and we haven’t seen him since yesterday. And we looked_ everywhere! _One of the kids came down with food poisoning because he ate bad seaweed._ Seaweed, _Bill. It’s come to the point where they’d rather eat grass than another fucking shrimp! And don’t get me started on the older ones. They’re growing, becoming adults. They NEED food! Good,_ _sustainable_ _food! And the pregnant ones--”_

_“Okay, okay, I get it!”_

_“DO YOU?!”_ yelled Tad. _“DO YOU_ REALLY? _Because last time I checked, you yanked my prey away from me!”_

 _“WOULD YOU RATHER THE WHOLE COLONY BE CURSED?!”_ Bill matched Tad’s tone and pushed himself off from the reef wall. He only stopped a few inches from his cousin’s face, glaring and taking in a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.

Tad froze mid-rant, eyes wide and jaw snapping shut with a _clack._ He frowned. _“What?”_

Bill closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, massaging his temples before starting off again. He could feel a headache creeping up and he didn’t like it one bit. _“Look, I didn’t do this because I’m a piece of shit.”_ Tad scoffed. _“No, shut up, it’s true. Just... let me explain.”_

The purple siren crossed his arms and huffed. _“This better be good.”_

 _“Right.”_ Bill looked down, pensive, trying to figure out where to start. _“So the crew we attacked is magical.”_

Tad raised an eyebrow.

_“The pirate I chose, the kid with the bandana, he has this birthmark on his forehead. It’s HUGE and it’s shaped exactly like one of those constellations Arnold always stares at. He’s got all the personality traits of a wizard too: rapid adaptation and acceptance, above average intelligence, curiosity, grey morality...”_

Tad paled. _“On the forehead?”_

Bill nodded. _“On the forehead. Smack-dab in the friggin’ middle too. Second most powerful magic emplacement and the kid doesn’t even seem to know what it is.”_ His face was grim, lips pressed in a thin line, and for once the golden siren looked like he felt: tired and stretched out.

_“Wait. You don’t know what his powers are?”_

Bill pressed the palm of his hands against his eyes. _“No, I’m trying to figure it out, but the kid doesn’t even_ know _and...”_

 _“’Trying to figure..."_ he paused for a moment. _"You’re with the pirates RIGHT NOW?!”_ The purple siren grabbed Bill by the shoulders and shook him as he spoke.

 _“Of course,_ _I’m with the pirates!”_ Bill said. _”Where did you_ think _I was?!”_

Tad let him go and scoffed. _“If we couldn’t find Arnold, we certainly couldn’t find you. You’re impossible to track down when you don’t want to be found.”_

Bill cocked his head to the side and grinned. _“Awww, shucks! That’s so sweet of you!”_

Tad punched him in the arm and pouted. _“Shut the hell up.”_

Bill laughed. It was so easy to rile his cousin up sometimes. His face fell however, as he thought back to the situation at hand. “ _Say, you’re going to put in a few good words for me with the elders, right? For when I come back.”_

 _'_ If  _I come back'_  went unsaid.

The purple siren sighed. “ _Bill... it’s not that simple. You_ did _just rip away a full buffet out from under us. Even_ I’m _still pissed.”_

_“Alright, alright... I’d just rather not they maul me next time they see my beautiful face.”_

_“Oh, that’ll be the least of your worries,”_ Tad snorted. _“But Bill...”_ He held the golden siren by the arm. “ _Are you going to be okay up there?”_

Bill’s lips curved in a faint smile. _“Sure I am! I already got them to un-gag me, can you believe it? Humans are so dumb.”_

Tad simply stared at him sternly, eyes still questioning.

Bill shrugged. _“We’re going deeper inland. It’ll probably be too far for me to come back and talk to you like this again.”_ The grip on his arm tightened. _“I’ll be alright, Tad, no sweat. I’ve got the Captain’s niece on my side and she’s got the man wrapped around her finger. It’s amazing.”_

_“If you say so, Bill...”_

“Hey, where did you go?”

Bill snapped out of his reverie at the sound of Pine Tree’s voice, and turned around. “Huh?”

“I said: where did you go? You looked like you were out of it for a second there.” The boy was looking down at him with a frown. He was standing up, loose and slightly-bloodied bandages bunched up in his hands.

Bill glanced down at himself. Indeed, all the wrapping was gone. “Oh. I was just... thinking.”

Pine Tree snorted. “Yeah, I could gather _that_ much. I—“

The sound of leaves and twigs snapping interrupted the pirate’s retort. Both he and Bill twisted around in the direction of the noise, and watched as four men slowly made their way towards the box, evidently stumbling through a hangover haze. Bill winced at the prospect of being carried for the day. He didn’t think his back could take it.

Pine Tree seemed to think along the same veins.

“Just... Don’t move too much,” he said.

Bill sniffed. “Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”

The lad just stuck his tongue out in response and left.

▲▼▲

To say that the day’s travels were bumpy would be an understatement.

Bill curled himself up as best he could inside the small glass cage, but his shoulder hurt from where it repeatedly hit the bottom panel, and his back had been aching ever since the men had almost tripped and dropped him as they were descending a hill. Even so, with pain flaring from just about everywhere, Bill was too tired to do anything but sleep.

No dream jumping this time, or telepathic communication. Just good, old, regular sleep.

It was still hard to do so, however, when the four pirates carrying him jostled the box up and down whilst stepping over roots and other uneven terrain. The siren would wake up in fits, only to fall back into unconsciousness five seconds later. Flashes of green would register into his brain when he’d snap his eyes open and awake, alongside with rare splashes of blue skies, before he would slide back into a dreamless slumber.

One particular time, though, he didn’t fall back asleep right away.

“Come oooooon, Dip!” he heard Shooting Star say. Bill struggled to clear his mind of the sleepy fog overtaking it, wanting to listen in on the twins’ conversation. He didn’t forget his reason of being here, after all. Maybe if they thought he was dormant, they’d be dumb enough to say some valuable piece of information around him.

“Mabel, I already said—“ That was Pine Tree somewhere to the left. The twins must’ve been walking right beside Bill if the siren could hear them so clearly.

“ _Details,_ Dipper! I want _details!_ All the juicy gossip you’ve got to give! _”_

“But there’s _nothing_ to give!”

“Bullcrap! You went to go see it this morning, didn’t you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you sneaking off, you little rascal.”

Oh, so they were talking about him, eh? Well, not exactly what the siren was looking for but he was curious nonetheless.

Pine Tree didn't respond.

 _“Oh, man!_ You actually did! I was just guessing, but you actually did! Oh my God, do you actually _like_ him?!”

“Mabel!” Pine Tree harshly whispered. “Keep it down...!”

“But do you really?” Shooting Star whispered back.

Bill peeked one eye open. Through the water and through the glass, the twins’ faces were blurry and warped, but he could still make out their basic silhouette. Pine Tree in particular was as red as a snapper. The siblings were huddled together, heads low and shoulders hunched, and Bill had to concentrate just a little more to be able to hear to them.

“I don’t...” the boy started. “I don’t _like_ the thing. It’s just... It didn’t try to eat me, I guess.”

“You guess.” Shooting Star’s tone was unbelieving.

“I was drunk, alright? It’s all kinds of blurry in there.” Pine Tree tapped the side of his head.

“But what did it _say?”_

“ _I don’t know!_ Something about not being able to join in? I think it was covering its ears.”

“Alright, and...?”

“Uh... It likes Wendy? Or Wendy’s singing, I have no idea.”

Shooting Star huffed. “You’re avoiding the subject, bro-bro!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are! What did it say about _you?_ What happened between you two?”

If he were to be honest, Bill wanted to know too. Disinfecting injuries, as Pine Tree called it, didn’t warrant careful acquaintanceship in his opinion.

“I just... I took care of its wounds. And it didn’t try to eat me. Coupled with saving our lives and all... I just think I should give the guy some slack, you know?”

Shooting Star nodded sagely before slapping her brother on the back. Pine Tree shot and stumbled forward, but luckily found his footing before any tripping occurred.

“That’s what I think too, broski. Glad you finally came around.”

So was that all it was? Bill mentally shrugged. That was fine with him. If it was _that_ easy to befriend Pine Tree, well, he’d be an idiot not to do so.

“But is that all?” Shooting Star asked. She glanced back at the men carrying Bill’s box, but none of them seemed to be listening. The two in the back were conversing with each other, one was humming to himself, and the other seemed concentrated on where he was putting his feet.

She and her brother were well on the clear.

“What do you mean, is that all?” Pine Tree’s browed furrowed.

“You didn’t learn _anything_ about the siren. Nothing at all?”

“Um... Well...” he wrung his hands together, hesitating.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“I think it told me its name. But I forgot.”

 _Wow,_ okay. Bill had heard enough.

He knocked on the glass panel separating him from the twins. Both their heads whipped back around to look at him, and the siren mouthed an offended “ _Rude!”_ with his best vexed expression. He grinned as Pine Tree turned even redder, and watched with a chuckle as the boy gripped his sister’s hand and practically _ran_ away from the siren.

The boy was cute, no shame in admitting it. And by lulling the lad in a false sense of security, maybe, _just maybe,_ Bill could manage to survive this disaster and somehow find his way back to the water.

The siren caressed the bandana tied to his wrist, the blue pine tree obnoxiously standing out against Bill’s tan skin. He closed his eyes, ignoring the sudden jolt as the men stepped over a rock, and dreamt of happier times.

▲▼▲

The Captain called for a break sometime near noon. A sigh of relief rang throughout the crew, and the men promptly dropped Bill onto the ground none too gently before joining the rest of their friends further along the way. The siren woke up with a start, then a groan, as the lock on the box was opened and the cover removed. He rolled his injured shoulder back, and buried his head back into his arms.

He was having a good dream for once, dammit!

Distractedly, he wondered what was wrong with him. He never needed much sleep to properly function before, yet now he had been napping for hours on end. He was just _so_ tired...

 _“Do you think it’s sick?”_ The voice was distorted, like it came from far away. Bill frowned. He couldn’t put a name to it.

_“Maybe? It could be that the water is stagnant.”_

This dream was weird. Bill didn’t like it.

_“After only two days and constant jostling? I don’t think so, bro.”_

_“Well there’s only one way to find out.”_

Suddenly, Bill felt hands on him and he was pulled out of the water. His gills burned at the unexpected change, and he gasped as he switched to lung breathing. He panicked, and scrambled to get whatever was attacking him away. He felt flesh against his claws before he heard a yelp, and then the grip on him disappeared and he was flopping back into the box.

Dazed, he stared up above him, and saw Pine Tree clutching his forearm whilst his sister tried to pry her brother’s hand away so she could see. Small droplets of blood were trickling down from under the boy’s palm, and Bill could only piece together what had just happened.

“What.” It wasn’t even a question. It was like the thought had overridden Bill’s brain.

Pine Tree glared back at him, almost snarling, before one look at Bill’s face seemed to make him deflate and soften. He sighed and glanced sideways to his sister.

“Are you okay?!” she practically yelled.

“I’m fine, Mabel. Really, I am.” He smiled at her reassuringly, before turning back towards Bill. “I shouldn’t have done that. You were sleeping and I surprised you. I’m sorry.”

Bill just frowned deeper. “ _What,”_ he repeated. _Pine Tree was apologizing, now? Since when?!_

He clutched the side of the box as the boy slowly uncovered his arm. Three long scratches ran down in thin vertical lines, and Bill licked his lips. Blood smelled really good all of a sudden, and it almost made him dizzy. He inspected his nails, and noticed there were small flakes of skin caught under them.

He also noticed that his nails were black. That wasn’t typically normal, he belatedly thought.

“Look,” Pine Tree said. He seemed to be addressing his fretting sister. “This is nothing. Barely worse than a cat. I’ll just go pour some rum over it later. We’re not here for this, remember?”

“Yeah, okay...” she hesitated, but still dropped her brother’s arm with one last concerned look before turning back toward the siren. Bill leaned back in a reflex at her intense stare.

_What the hell had he done?_

“I...” he tried to defend himself, he really did. But the words wouldn’t come out.

“Are you sick?” Shooting Star asked. She seemed to be her usual cheerful self again — a small smile, eyes twinkling — which mildly terrified Bill.

“No...”

“Because Dipper here says you’ve been acting... _grumpy,_ is the word I think he used.” She pointed towards her brother with her thumb, a lopsided grin plastered on her face.

Pine Tree huffed. “It _is_ acting grumpy!”

“Uh-huh. You seem to have it under good authority, for someone who’s only known it for two days.”

The boy squirmed.

“Woah, woah, woah...” Bill closed his eyes shut and shook his head, palms up in a time-out manner. “Rewind. You think I’m _sick?”_

Shooting Star just pointed to her brother. Said brother scratched the back of his head.

“You’ve been acting weird, is all I’m saying.”

Bill squinted at him. “Oh _really?_ This could be how I normally act for all _you_ know.”

“Oh, yeah? Then explain your face.”

The siren grimaced. “What’s wrong with my face?”

Pine Tree simply raised an eyebrow as Bill’s hand came up to his mouth. He felt along his lips and tensed as he realized just how exactly he must’ve looked. He was worse off than Tad, even. His teeth were shark length and all filed into canines, and as he patted down the rest of his face, he could feel his eyes were sunken, his eyelids too thin, and his ears elongating into fins.

That’s when his stomach growled.

“It’s _hungry!”_ Shooting Star exclaimed. “Dipper! That’s why it’s grumpy and sleepy. It’s _hungry!_ ”

Pine Tree seemed at a loss for words, before he buried he his head in his hands. “How could we—? Stupid. Stupid!” He rubbed down his face, staring at Bill, and then pushed back his hair. “Oh, geez. What are we gonna feed it?”

The twins fell silent, before Shooting Star seemed to get an idea. She turned to Bill.

“Do you eat cooked fish?” she asked.

Bill’s nose scrunched up at the thought.

“We’ll take that as a no.”

“It probably eats things raw. Which we don’t have.”

Shooting Star crossed her arms. “Oh, come on. We’ve got to have _something.”_

Pine Tree shook his head. “All we have is what we had in storage on the Shack. Everything has either been salted or smoked for preservation.”

Watching the twins argue was like watching a game of pass, Bill thought. They talked about him like he wasn’t even there, yet he didn’t really care. His eyes switched from one to the other as they explored possibilities, their retorts spoken in rapid-fire, but then the siren felt his eyelids start to droop. He yawned.

“... low blood sugar, maybe some fruit?”

“For now maybe, but that’s not going to keep it going. Do sirens even eat fruit?”

“But—“

Something rustled in the underbrush. All three froze, and stared in the direction where the leaves had been disturbed. Slowly, a leg, then a snout, and then they all breathed out a sigh of relief as a deer finally poked its head out. Nothing dangerous, not a monster, just a deer.

Shooting Star elbowed Pine Tree in the gut, eyes fixed on the prize, only glancing back to her brother for a split-second to see if he understood. At his questioning stare, she nodded sideways towards the deer, and glanced down to Bill, giving a meaningful look to her brother.

“I didn’t bring my gun with me,” she whispered.

Realization seemed to dawn on his face. He reached inside of his coat, pulled out a pistol, and gave it to his sister. Bill frowned at the sight. Permanently armed meant that he was going to have to be on his best behavior. He winced at the memory of just minutes prior, and thanked Calypso the boy hadn’t blown his brains out right then and there.  Still, he eyed the gun skeptically. That wasn’t meant for him this time, was it? He leaned back nonetheless.

Shooting Star widened her stance, slowly brought up the pistol to her eyes, and pointed it towards the deer. Bill watched as she breathed in, breathed out, steady, steady...

The deer dropped dead from where it stood.

Bill pressed his hands against his ears as the gunshot kept on ringing inside of his skull. He peered down at the deer – it was dead before it even hit the ground – and felt his world almost tilt over as the sole thing he was able focus on became the fresh carcass just a few feet away. His stomach felt like it was coiling in on itself, and he knew, just _knew,_ that the human mask had dropped and he had gone full-on siren then.

A shadow fell over him, and he looked back up. The Captain and his men had heard the gunfire, evidently, and had rushed towards the sound posthaste.

Shooting Star was pointing over towards the deer, explaining everything to the Captain but the man was still glowering down at Bill, hand resting on his own pistol. Belatedly, Bill understood that the Captain must’ve thought that it had been the siren that had threatened his niece and forced her to fire.

Wow, hunger was making him slow. Usually, he would have seen the old man arrive in the first place.

Nevertheless, the Captain seemed to calm down as his niece kept on explaining. His gaze shifted towards the deer’s dead body, and he signaled the men to go over and drag it back to the front of the line. They had to pass by Bill, however, to get there and back, and the siren had to cover his nose as they walked past with the corpse in their arms.

This time, the whole crew could’ve heard his stomach growl.

The Captain was staring down at him, evaluating this new piece of information with a cold, calculating gaze, and Bill cursed himself for giving the man one over him. The siren would do practically _anything_ for food, and they both knew it.

Luck seemed to be on his side though, as Pine Tree tapped his great uncle on the shoulder while they were making their way back to the front. Bill couldn’t hear them from this far away, but he watched as the boy’s caretaker hesitated at whatever his nephew had asked him, before nodding reluctantly. Pine Tree smiled, and ran as fast as he could – which was to say, not very much, with his cane and limp – towards the men that had deposited the deer onto the ground.

The boy pulled out a knife hidden in the waistband of his pants and cut a chunk out of the deer’s flank. Bill felt his mood both drop and lift: drop because Pine Tree was armed to the teeth which meant the siren would have to be even more careful than he already was; and lift because surely that chunk of juicy raw meat was meant for him.

Indeed, Pine Tree did make his way back to the siren, bloody piece of flesh in hand, which he regarded with disgust though that was understandable. Humans had such weak and prude hearts, Bill snickered under his breath.

The pirate slowed to a stop only a few feet away, too far for Bill to just snatch the meat out of the boy’s hands, so the siren simply settled for extending an arm out, palm flat open.

The kid smirked. “Nope.”

Bill narrowed his eyes and snarled. “ _Excuse me?”_

“I want to make deal. That’s how it works with you, doesn’t it?” Pine Tree crouched down, carefully placing his cane on the grass, and smiled.

“What kind of deal?” Bill retracted his arm back, and twitched his tail in annoyance. It wasn’t a smart move to make a siren wait for a meal.

“You do a trick for me, and I give you a treat.” 

“I’m not some kind of _pet,”_ Bill spat out.

“Noooo...” Pine Tree acquiesced. “You’re a prisoner. Which means you’re in an unfavorable position to try and argue.”

He was right. And Bill hated it when the kid was right. It always meant that Bill was wrong.

“What do you want, then?” He huffed and crossed his arms.

“I want a question.”

The siren blinked.

“And this time, you’ve got to give a truthful and satisfactory answer,” the pirate continued.

Bill snorted. “Satisfactory is a very subjective term, you know.”

“Satisfactory for _me,_ then, if you’re going to be difficult.”

“And you’ll give me my food?”

“Yup!” Pine Tree nodded. “One meal, one question. That’s all I ask for.”

Bill considered this for a moment. There wasn’t much _to_ consider however, since Pine Tree had finally found the one thing Bill couldn’t refuse. _Dammit._ And the boy knew it too.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Ask away, pirate boy.”

“What’s your name?” The kid didn’t miss a beat.

“It’s Bill,” the siren sniffed. “And frankly I’m offended you forgot.”

Pine Tree snorted. “Seriously?”

Bill just rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. It’s stupidly human, you’ve said so already. Now give me my meat.” He extended his arm out again, and this time Pine Tree did indeed hand him the bloody slice.

The boy stood up as Bill sank his teeth into the flesh. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, before turning around and walking away.

 _Hey! That’s my line,_ Bill thought, staring at Pine Tree’s retreating back. He frowned as he tore another bit of meat with his teeth.

He was going to see way more of the pirate from now on.

He didn't think he minded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotta say, this past week has been fukcign amazing asdfghjkl; thank you all so much
> 
> There's just so much people that make art for this au and it's GORGEOUS and I want everyone to check them out:  
> [By alexa-eve](http://alexa-eve.tumblr.com/post/122295225431/this-is-not-at-all-what-i-had-in-mind-when-i-sat)  
> [By crispych0colate](http://crispych0colate.tumblr.com/post/122361026795/more-fanart-for-off-the-deep-end-by)  
> [By eggmcmuffinboy](http://eggmcmuffinboy.tumblr.com/post/122481690953/siren-bill-from-the-off-the-deep-end)  
> [By lucilequiquempois](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/post/122546500197/of-the-deep-end-chapter-6-man-i-love-this-au)  
> [By orianagraystuff](http://orianagraystuff.tumblr.com/post/122892478173/but-i-dont-want-to-sleep-in-all-my-dreams-i)  
> [and an 8tracks playlist by buygold](http://8tracks.com/buygold/off-the-deep-end)


	8. Cadence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want everyone to thank crispych0colate for beta-reading this chapter as well as whooping my ass back into shape, because believe me, this chapter would not be up today if it wasn't for her.

Pine Tree seemed to have a tendency to feed Bill three times per day, which Bill didn’t necessarily understand, but it wasn’t like anybody was going to hear him complain.

For the second meal, Pine Tree had seemingly lost the nerve he had built up the first time around, yet he was too stubborn and too curious to let the deal go. He had nervously asked Bill about the triangle piece of leather he wore around his neck, calling it an “eye-patch”, and the siren simply answered that he had been bored one day and found it interesting, so he kept it. Easy enough question, easy enough answer. Pine Tree nodded, handed him another slice of meat, and walked away.

It was very awkward for the both of them.

The third time he came back though, he seemed more confident. He wanted to know why the earplugs the crew had worn during their arrival didn’t work.

“Cover your ears,” Bill had said.

Pine Tree did, and Bill proceeded to show him that even if his ears were plugged or covered, the pirate was still able to hear the siren, though just a bit on the muffled side. He then had to explain that _listening_ to a siren’s voice was enough to induce a docile trance. Not just hearing, but listening too. If a sailor, for any reason whatsoever, was distracted enough to not understand what a siren was singing, then said sailor was safe. That’s why sirens were so attractive. Good looks always caught people’s attention.

Paradoxically, the physical beauty also served as a distraction, for if someone were aware of the danger a siren’s voice posed, no talking nor singing would work. All they needed was a split-second of wonder or lust to take a hold of their prey, and then nothing could break the spell until the siren willed it.

At Pine Tree’s look of confusion, Bill had to take the kid’s great uncle as an example.

“At the beach, remember?” he sighed.

Pine Tree nodded, eyes wide, avidly sinking all of the information in.

Bill listed off his and the Captain’s interaction one reply at a time. The first time Bill had tried to calm the man down, said man was too furious to even _listen_ to what the siren was saying; rage blinded _and_ deafened him simultaneously. At his second opportunity, it was already too late. The Captain knew Bill’s talking had magical properties, and thus the siren’s hopes of reasoning with the man were washed away.

The mechanics were all very simple when you grew up with them, Bill guessed.

During his explanation though, he did wonder if he really should have been revealing so much. People weren’t supposed to know so much about sirens, and who knew what the kid was going to do with this information. Was he going to find a weakness of some sort? Invent some object or weapon that humans could use to defend themselves? Bill couldn’t think of anything, but he wouldn’t put it past a mage like Pine Tree to imagine something along those lines.

Still, he wanted – borderline _needed_ – food after three full days without even a nibble to eat. The two other slices helped, sure, but they weren’t enough to power a heavy fish tail, a human brain, and a body that had to produce its own heat, as well as replenish the fat deposits Bill had lost during that timeframe. In other words, he didn’t feel as bad about revealing precious data as much as he could’ve been.

The moment Bill was done however, Pine Tree had dashed away with a hastily given thanks, and took out his little notebook from a bag lying next to his sister. He started to furiously scribble away on its pages, frowning and tongue sticking out in concentration, and Bill could only watch while happily munching on his evening meal.

He was curious as to what that journal contained actually. There was a big fat symbol – a hook curving right with a horizontal dash jutting out of its bottom end – inked onto its cover, but the leather the book was made of was cracked and worn, clearly indicating a long time of use, opened and reopened each time Pine Tree wrote down something new. Maybe it was a spell book? Or more likely some type of bestiary, if the boy was recording the information Bill had given him.

The siren mentally shrugged. It wasn’t like he was ever going to find out.

Finally, the Captain ordered the crew to get back on the road, and Bill was lifted up from the ground once more.

That was the last time they took a break, and when they finally stopped, it was to set up camp for the night. They settled in somewhere under a tall and looming rock, almost cavern-like, perfect for shielding against any rain or wind that could occur. The men were exhausted, not just from walking, but from roaming the woods with no definite goal too. Bill could hear them mumbling and grumbling, as well as see their hunched shoulders, their deep frowns, their turned down lips and their tired eyes.

The pirates always dropped him somewhere on the outskirts of their camp for some reason Bill couldn’t grasp. It would’ve been so much easier to keep an eye on him if he was smack-dab in the middle, but at the same time, it wasn’t like he could go anywhere. Nevertheless, his position did give him a prime seat for discussions that were meant to be private, much to his delight. It was funny how dumb pirates could be.

 _I mean, come on. How could someone forget that there’s an apex predator only a few feet away?_ he thought, tail swishing back and forth inside the box.

“Captain Pines, we need to talk.” That was the fat man talking, though his sentence was delivered more like a question than a statement. The poor man was sweating profusely, eyes switching back and forth between the redhead next to him and the Captain.

The three of them were gathered in a circle behind a few bushes, the Captain with his back against a tree, looking lost, cornered, and slightly scared. Redhead, on the other hand, was frowning with her arms crossed, standing stock-still with her weapons hanging low on her hips.

 _Oh, this is gonna be good,_ Bill thought.

He silently flipped around, careful not to splash the water too much, and lowered himself just enough to be able to peek over the edge of the box.

“Oh, Soos...” the Captain chuckled nervously, palms flat in a placating gesture. “What is there to talk about?”

Fatman opened his mouth, but Redhead beat him to it.

“You know damn well, Mr. Pines,” she admonished. “We’ve been walking in a straight line for two days now. I’m rather surprised we haven’t even reached the other side of the island yet. So I’m just gonna go right out and say it: _are we going to die on this island?!”_

“What, no!”

“Uhh... Wendy...” Fatman wrung his hands together, beads of sweat starting to roll down his forehead.

“ _What?”_ she threw her hands up in the air. _“_ Everybody’s thinking it!”

“Wendy,” The Captain intervened. “We’re not going to die on this island, I promise.”

Redhead just harrumphed and crossed her arms again.

Fatman, however, had something else to say.

“You see, Captain. That’s not the _only..._ uh...problem...”

“What _other_ problem is there, Soos?” the older gent deadpanned.

“The rest of the crew, they’re... well... how do I put this?” he mumbled.

“They’re restless,” Redhead interrupted. “They’ve grown nervous because they don’t know where we’re going. _None_ of us do. They’re tired of walking with heavy bags full of supplies and no change in scenery, they complain under their breath – but it’s not like Soos and I have no experience in the matter, we hear them – and they’re starting to question your orders, Captain.”

“ _What?”_ The Captain looked positively shocked at the news.

“We need a heading, sir,” Fatman said. “Otherwise we’re just roaming a deserted island, surrounded by sirens ready to eat us whenever.”

The Captain just rubbed his face and groaned. “Is this what it’s all about? We... I...”

“There _is_ a reason why we’re here.... _right?”_ Redhead inquired.

“Yes!” the Captain cried out. “Of course, there is! I just... I’m looking for something.”

Fatman gasped and Redhead’s eyes widened. “Not the treasure, right sir?” she asked.

The gent sniffed. “Oh, _God_ no. Not in a million years. It’s... something I can’t talk about right now, not yet. Don’t tell the kids, _please._ ”

The other two looked each other in the eyes, before seeming to come to a silent agreement.

“If those are your orders, sir,” Redhead said. “But that still doesn’t address the problem at hand. We’re risking mutiny, here.”

“I suggest we settle down over there until the Captain finds what he’s looking for.” Fatman interjected, pointing over at where the sailors were laying down their cots. “The rock provides adequate shelter against any storm that may pass over, and it’s very hard to miss: perfect for regrouping.”

“I, for one, wholeheartedly agree!” Bill yelled.

The three of them jumped at the siren’s sudden outburst, and turned around to face him. It wasn’t his fault they didn’t notice him so close by; he had been practically buzzing, trying to restrain himself, before he just _had_ to get in on the conversation. Their shocked faces were just _priceless,_ and Bill grinned his best toothy smile at the sight. Next thing he knew though, there was a blade to his throat.

Bill’s grin fell in a matter of seconds, and he gulped as Redhead pressed her cutlass right under his chin. His eyes ran up from the tip of the sword, past the green-clad arm, past the long red locks, and settled on the woman’s bark brown eyes.

“How long have you been listening?” she hissed.

Bill’s mouth felt very, very dry all of a sudden. This was not good. “Since the beginning,” he laughed, trying to hide how nervous he really was. "You humans are bad at being discreet."

“Are you going to tell the twins of what you just heard?” Her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Uh...” Bill shifted his gaze to the two men behind Red. Fatman looked terrified, while the Captain had his hands balled into tight fists, though his eyes screamed concern. “What’s in it for me?”

The blade pushed harder against his skin, just enough to draw a bit of blood, and Bill swallowed. Again.

“Do not test me, _siren,”_ Redhead threatened. “Let me put this _very_ clearly for you. You are untrustworthy, dangerous, and just one more burden my men have to carry around. I was not one of those who encouraged the idea of you being kept alive. The only thing you’ll get out of a deal with me is your life spared, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned and mock-saluted her.

This was really, really not good.

Suddenly, the pressure on Bill’s throat was removed and he could breathe a sigh of relief as Redhead sheathed her sword back onto her hip.

“The moment I think of you as a threat to the crew, you're dead. Remember that,” she said.

“Oh, I will,” he breathed. “ _Believe_ me.”

“Does that mean you won’t tell the kids?”

Bill looked up and flinched at the Captain looming over him. He was mad, clearly, and even the sight of his ridiculous hat wasn’t enough to distract the siren this time.

“Not a word!” Bill rushed to say. “Though I stand by my earlier statement: staying here is a great idea!” He smiled, albeit a bit nervously.

The Captain’s shoulders drooped in what Bill could only guess was delight and agreement. What could he say? He had that effect on people.

“And don’t you worry, we’re far enough from the beach to be safe!” he continued.  “Shelter, food, water, not being shaken around all day... What could bipeds like you possibly want more?”

“As much as it pains me to say,” Redhead said. “The siren’s got a point. This is the perfect place to set base camp.”

“We can send out scouting teams to scout the area,” Fatman added. “So you can still search for whatever you’re looking for, Captain.”

“Our water supplies will run out in a few days too, so those parties will have to be on the lookout for some sort of source as well.” The two men nodded at Redhead’s words. “I’ll go make the announcement then.”

The girl left, and not long after, cheers could be heard from all over the camp. Fatman joined her not long after, but not before leaving with a parting question.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we _did_ tell Mabel and Dipper, Mr. Pines?”

The Captain sighed. “I don’t want to get their hopes up, Soos. It’s... complicated.”

Fatman nodded, then saluted the man before leaving.

The Captain turned around.

“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t ya?” he said, directing his words to the siren.

Bill just shrugged. “If you wanted privacy, you could’ve just picked someplace farther away. Not my fault you’re all dolts. Though I’m not going to lie, it’s very entertaining!”

The older gent simply sneered and walked away. Bill, however, could’ve sworn he heard the words ‘insufferable’ and ‘annoying’ being grumbled, although he couldn’t be too sure.

Nonetheless, the siren rejoiced in the notion that he wouldn’t have to be carried anymore. This time he _knew_ neither his back nor shoulder would’ve been able to take it. Sure, ever since Pine Tree had cleaned them up, the pain and the aching had been slowly ebbing away, but sometimes the pirates would hit a rock just in a certain way that made Bill’s injuries collide with a glass panel, and left him reeling for a few excruciating minutes. It came to the point where it wasn’t even funny anymore.

Speaking of pain though, finding a water source nearby couldn’t happen soon enough.

Bill hadn’t been able to properly move in three days now, and his tail was paying the price of it. It certainly didn’t help that it had to be cramped in a too-small space, all bent and squished, and that the only opportunities Bill had to stretch out was when the crewmen were kind enough to remove the cover of the box. He honestly could not wait until he would be able to swim freely once again.

So much, in fact, that he couldn’t help but dream of it.

Dusk was quick to fall, and the crew quick to sleep. Bill didn’t even bother exiting his own mindscape for the night, content in just passively watching the other dreamscapes’ scenarios unfold, whilst building an imaginary sea for him to relax in. He thought of maybe screwing over one of the pirates and giving them nightmares, but decided against it. He was mighty fine just swimming around and chasing fish, and he didn’t feel like working tonight.

Shooting Star was dreaming in sparkles and pastel, Redhead about taking down some other pirate ship, Fatman about this admittedly cute woman named Melody, the Captain about counting his riches (Bill deflated at that. He was hoping on finding out more and finally understanding what was going on. Next time, maybe.) and Pine Tree...

_Well, then._

Pine Tree seemed to be dreaming about Bill.

How sweet of him.

The siren stopped where he swam, shocked and amused, and delved deeper into the boy’s dreamscape. His own melted off into a greyscale rendition of his native northern lake as he concentrated his energy on eavesdropping. This was not an opportunity Bill was going to miss, no way.

The boy was sitting on a dock, talking to some sort of imaginary Bill as far as the original one could tell. The sky was colored a deep fuchsia with the occasional black cloud, though there was no sun in the sky (Bill had long since learned not to question dream logic and took it for granted) and the only thing on the horizon was an infinite flat sea. Behind Pine Tree stood what looked like an extremely long sand beach and the forest of Mindscape Bay, although it was plunged into an intimidating darkness, unusual for what Bill guessed was a nice relaxing dream.

Anyhow, imaginary-Bill had his arms and head resting on the dock right beside Pine Tree, tail still submerged in the water below. He had this... _dreamy_ look on his face as he watched the boy talk and talk, and real-Bill wrinkled his nose. Not in disgust, just in disbelief.

This was absurd. Why was imaginary-him acting like a love-struck fool?

“... and your culture is so _interesting._ Mermando told me it was super different from the mermaid one because you guys survive on hunting and eating humans, instead of just living off sea fauna and trade with other species. But then...”

So Pine Tree was rambling about sirens apparently. Bill didn’t know what else he expected. If the kid’s question earlier this evening was anything to go off by, of course sirens were a point of interest to him.

“So my theory is: you guys are hunter-gatherers living in a nomad kind of life-style. You have to change hunting grounds regularly otherwise humans are going to catch on and start avoiding certain areas. It also explains why you’re very closed off and don’t really come in contact with other supernatural species like mermaids, because would-be merchants just don’t know where to find you. Am I right or am I wrong?”

Pine Tree peered back down to imaginary-Bill, legs dangling loosely from the dock and eyes alight. He was leaning slightly back, propping himself up with his arms, and real-Bill couldn’t help but notice he was actually wearing his blue bandana.

Imaginary-Bill flashed the boy a small smile before responding. “You’re absolutely right, Dipper.”

_Oh, this was so wrong in so many ways._

Bill could not believe the _nerve_ of this kid.

First of all, Bill had never called Pine Tree by his real name, nor would he ever. Second of all, none of that siren stuff was accurate. Third of all, imaginary-Bill was an absolute fucking ditz; and fourth of all, _what the hell was wrong with Pine Tree?!_

There was twisted, and then there was _this._

Bill wasn’t even angry. He should’ve been but he wasn’t. Pine Tree’s characterization of the siren was just... _gross;_ and Bill wondered where had he gone wrong? When had he given the impression he was a complete and utter idiot? Or was this just how Pine Tree _wished_ Bill was? _Eugh._

The siren sighed and let his head fall back. Well, it wasn’t worth stopping now. If anything, he could just jump in, replace imaginary-Bill, and correct Pine Tree on his ridiculous “theory”, as he called it, never mind just wanting to sit back and enjoy watching the dream unfold. Bill let out a small chuckle as he tuned back in; nomads, _yeah right._

Imaginary-Bill was still relaxing on the dock alongside Pine Tree who was ranting on and on about sirens, a light breeze blowing their hair back and the waves gently rocking back and forth. Real-Bill was just about to intervene, jumping in the boy’s dreamscape and replace his imaginary self without the kid noticing, but stopped short as he noticed one small different detail.

There was a glint in imaginary-Bill’s eyes, something mischievous and playful, something a bit more akin to original Bill’s true character. Real-Bill retreated, curious as to how and what the dream was bound to change into, and waited patiently for the eventual outcome.

Without warning, imaginary-Bill gripped the dock by both hands and pushed back, dropping into the water with a resounding splash and stopping Pine Tree mid-sentence. The boy froze, staring at where the siren disappeared and leaned forward as if to get a closer look. He didn’t have to, though, because the moment right after, imaginary-Bill surged out of the water and planted himself neatly in between the pirate’s legs.

“Enough talk, more action, wouldn’t you say Dipper?” Imaginary-Bill smiled with all his teeth.

Pine Tree just blushed and gulped, trying to lean back, but imaginary-Bill just followed his movement, their noses a hair’s width form each other. The pirate could feel the siren’s breath on his cheek and his whole face darkened.

Meanwhile, back in his own mindscape, real-Bill grinned. _Seduction, huh? I can work with that._

“I--I don’t...” Pine Tree stammered.

Imaginary-Bill pushed himself even closer, sliding a hand under the pirate’s shirt, his touch almost burning Pine Tree’s skin, and the man practically whimpered. The siren tilted his head sideways just a bit, enough to start nibbling on the lad’s ear, sucking the lobe in between his teeth but careful not to actually puncture it with his fangs.

“What’s wrong, Dipper?” he murmured. “I thought you _liked_ me.”

A shiver ran up Pine Tree’s spine at the words.

Imaginary-Bill grinned and lowered himself to kiss the lad’s neck, peppering it with soft short kisses before latching on and sucking right over the collarbone, making Pine Tree squeak and moan before he melted under the siren’s ministrations.

The hand under his shirt slid to his back, pulling him closer and pressing him against the siren, and Pine Tree gripped imaginary-Bill by the shoulder as he let out a drawn-out moan. He pressed his legs together, effectively pinning the siren to the dock, and let out a shaky breath, tilting his head back as said siren started sucking on the underside of his jaw.

That’s when it all went to shit.

Real-Bill scrambled as the pink sky gave way to a starlit night, and as imaginary-Bill suddenly grabbed Pine Tree by the shirt and pulled him underwater. A flare of anxiety burst out of Pine Tree’s dreamscape, knocking the breath out of real-Bill and leaving him reeling, before quickly being replaced by a wave of fear, panic and... hurt?

The dream’s landscape shifted to deep in the ocean, no dock or beach around for miles, and real-Bill watched, frozen, as imaginary-Bill transformed into the feral version of himself. Undoubtedly, this was what Pine Tree remembered from the night they first met.

The boy was drowning; not for real, but it sure felt like it to him. Real-Bill knew what this meant: the seed of doubt, of distrust, being planted into the kid’s subconscious by some stupid nightmare, and the siren growled, getting himself ready to dream-jump. Like hell he was going to let three days of tentative amiability go to waste.

He popped in inside the Pine Tree’s dream and dropped into the ocean, diving towards the pirate currently fighting for his life, and batted away his imaginary self from existence with the back of his hand. Fake-him slowly dissolved like foam, letting real-Bill take his place, not that Pine Tree seemed to notice.  Bill couldn’t get a hold of the kid, what with his thrashing and fighting back. He managed, however, to grab the boy by the sides of the head, stilling him and making him focus on the siren.

“You’re dreaming, Pine Tree,” Bill said. “Nothing here is real.”

The boy opened his mouth but only bubbles came out. His eyes widened in a panic.

“You can breathe,” the siren exclaimed.

He could feel the kid’s mindscape rearrange himself as the dream became lucid. The water vanished whilst everything turned grey, and suddenly the both of them were inside what looked like a ship. There was clutter everywhere, and a hammock in the corner, and Bill got the sense that everything was supposed to be made of wood.

He was shoved away – rudely, might he add – while he was distracted by the change in surroundings.

“Get away from me!”

“Pine Tree, relax,” Bill brought up his hands in a way that showed he meant no harm. “What you dreamed of wasn’t the real me. _Nothing_ here is real actually... I am not-so-proud to say that I _was not_ the one to give you nightmares this time!” He flashed the boy a lop-sided grin.

The kid slowly lowered his sword – where he had gotten the sword, Bill had no idea. Maybe he had summoned it? – and squinted his eyes at the siren suspiciously. His clothes were dry, but he was still panting, and he had a hand around his neck as he caught his breath back.

For someone who was just introduced to the concept of being able to walk inside your own mind, the boy was taking it pretty well.

“So what?” he asked. “You’re not real either?”

Bill clapped his hands together. “Oh no, I am very real! Real as real can be. I just decided to pay you a visit tonight, see how things were holding up. Gotta say Pine Tree, this subconscious of yours is pretty cozy,” he twirled around, admiring the vastness of the kid’s mind.

Pine Tree’s glance side to side. “So this is...”

“A visual representation of the inside of your mind, yes.”

“Why does it look like the Mystery Shack?”

Bill tapped the underside of his chin. “Well... The subconscious usually takes the form of whatever place the person calls home.” He frowned. “Huh... That’s kinda sad actually. You call your ship home?”

The pirate bristled at the comment. “I’ve lived on that ship for seven years,” he defended.

“Now that’s just pathetic,” the siren sighed.

“Screw you!”

“Hmm... Well, it did seem like you were about to back there, didn’t it?” Bill snickered as Pine Tree’s face blossomed into a lovely dark shade of red. “Now, now, flattery will get you nowhere, you know that.”

“You saw that...?” he choked out.

“Oh, I saw everything!” the siren applauded. “Priceless, I tell you, absolutely _priceless!”_

Pine Tree’s mouth opened and closed, unable to get a word out. The boy was livid, obviously, and Bill couldn’t help but laugh some more.

“Oh, don’t worry, kid,” he said. “You won’t remember a thing in the morning.”

“Oh, thank God.” The boy’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“I will though, which is going to be great, but at least _you_ won’t be dying of mortification when you wake up.”

“Wait.” Pine Tree’s eyes snapped open again and he tensed. “ _WHAT?”_

Bill snapped his fingers. “Oopsie-daisies! Looks like the sun is rising. Time to wake up, Pine Tree!”

“What, NO! I—“

It didn’t matter what he said next. Bill blinked and found himself back into his own mindscape, having been expelled from Pine Tree’s as the boy woke up. He laughed uncontrollably upon finally digesting what had just happened.

Tomorrow was going to be _fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely satisfied with this one, but oh well, I tried my best.
> 
> Also, the art for this just keeps on coming which is surreal, but I love it, keep on making these pretty pretty things.  
> [By crispych0colate](http://crispych0colate.tumblr.com/post/122972669950/fanart-for-chapter-7-of-off-the-deep-end-by) [(2)](http://crispych0colate.tumblr.com/post/123044478210/more-siren-bill-doodles-ive-fallen-and-cant)  
> [By orianagraystuff](http://orianagraystuff.tumblr.com/post/123049334378/eavesdropping-is-rude-bill-more-for-the-latest) [(2)](http://orianagraystuff.tumblr.com/post/123063147018/mystery-shack-rules-you-dont-flirt-with-the) [(3)](http://orianagraystuff.tumblr.com/post/122999082883/siren-bill-is-just-really-fun-to-draw)  
> [By therambler13](http://therambler13.tumblr.com/post/123058983483/cipher-i-barely-know-her-has-converted-me-into)  
> [By risaaart](http://risaaart.tumblr.com/post/123067337307/whats-wrong-with-my-face-hungry-siren)  
> [By frozen-snowdrop](http://frozen-snowdrop.tumblr.com/post/123231469897/finally-its-fucking-done-i-started-reading-off)  
> [By lucilequiquempois](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/post/123236003892/fan-art-for-of-the-deep-end-by-marshonthemellow) [(2)](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/post/123285587997/more-siren-bill-fan-art-for-marshonthemellows) [(3)](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/post/123324233562/things-didnt-end-up-as-planned-for-bill-once)  
> [By ask-giggles1303](http://ask-giggles1303.tumblr.com/post/123231493844/started-reading-off-the-deep-end-i-forget-the) [(2)](http://ask-giggles1303.tumblr.com/post/123298861089/mystery-shack-rules-you-dont-flirt-with-the) [(3)](http://ask-giggles1303.tumblr.com/post/123330237894/i-wonder-who-bill-staring-at-my-finished-sketch)  
> [By zesapphireknight-art](http://zesapphireknight-art.tumblr.com/post/123298677883/finally-done-im-pretty-proud-of-this-one-based)  
> [By i-dont-sell-art](http://i-dont-sell-art.tumblr.com/post/123441078405/siren-bill-based-off-the-fanfiction)  
> [By ashes-for-dayz](http://ashes-for-dayz.tumblr.com/post/123467847013/im-back-from-my-art-hiatus-i-was-sick-but-ive)  
> [By rasta-orange](http://rasta-orange.tumblr.com/post/123500621142/dipper-im-scared-mabel-looked-at-him-with)  
> [By ishipitblog](http://ishipitblog.tumblr.com/post/123512349438/this-is-the-song-i-listened-to-the-whole-time)
> 
> (these are getting long to link, jfc)
> 
> Also, the next chapter of OtDE will most probably be a bit late because I'm taking a break from this story. I'm not abandoning it, I'll finish this story no matter what no worries there. It's just that this last chapter has taken it's toll on me and if I start thinking of writing this as work, then it's not going to be fun for anybody. So to prevent this story from turning into absolute shit, I'll be writing different oneshots and finishing those prompts I never got to!!! :3


	9. Ledger Line

The thing with dreams, Bill pondered, was that there was a fifty-fifty percent chance that the person would remember upon waking up. That percentage rose to 60-40 if the dream was either recent, or emotionally-packed. When Bill had told Pine Tree that he wouldn’t remember in the morning, he _might_ _’ve_ been slightly-maybe-kinda-not-really bluffing. That’s what the dream powers were for, after all. They permitted him to balance the scale in his favor, just slightly, and lower the chances of anyone remembering to about 30-70 and vice-versa.

It came in handy, to say the least.

So when Pine Tree limped up to him the next morning, a slice of now-going-a-bit-bad meat in his hands, and only stared at the siren with a completely blank look on his face, Bill counted his blessings and kept the secret to himself. He doubted he could blackmail the kid even if he remembered, especially since – judging by his flimsy arms – he wouldn’t even be able to carry the siren a mere seven feet. Yet if Bill were to tell him, no way would Pine Tree believe him, so there was no hope of escape one way or another.

“Why are you smiling like that?” the boy asked upon arriving.

Bill tilted his head to the side, the perfect picture of innocence. “Smiling like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t.” Pine Tree narrowed his eyes and gripped the slice of meat closer to his chest, suspicious.

“Oh, I know _lots_ of things you don’t, Pine Tree!” Bill cheered. “ _Lots of things,_ _”_ he stressed.

“Uh... yeah, sure, okay.” He looked down to the flesh in his hands and paused. Bill could practically see the gears turning in his head as he mulled over what he had just done. “... You’re going to count that as a question, aren’t you?” He looked back up to the siren with the same suspicious expression on his face.

“Yep!” Bill grinned with all his teeth. ”Wow, it’s almost like you’re getting to know me a little better every day, kid!”

The boy sniffed. “I’d rather not, thanks. _”_ He tossed the meat, and Bill caught it neatly in the palm of his hand. “I’ll come back later.”

And thus the boy turned around and left to join his sister’s side.

“What’s wrong, Pine Tree?” Bill called out after him. “Not going to stay for a little chat? I thought you _liked_ me.”

He might’ve not wanted to tell Pine Tree about the dream, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t quote it and have a bit of fun.

The boy paused. His back was turned so Bill couldn’t see his expression, but the siren could venture a guess: confusion, a strange sense of déjà-vu the kid couldn’t possibly explain, and growing suspicion. His hunch was proved correct when Pine Tree stalked back towards him.

“If you’re using your powers I _swear to God..._ _”_

Bill only held his palms up in the air. “Yeesh, kid! As if I would! What’s the matter with you?” He faked complete ignorance, plastering confusion all over his face, maybe even throwing a bit of fear in there just to get on Pine Tree’s good side.

It seemed to work, surprisingly enough.

The lad hesitated, a look of guilt passing over his face for a split-second, before he seemed to reconsider his approach. Bill thought that the kid would just retreat, embarrassed by an outburst he couldn’t even explain to himself, and then Bill would have a nice and peaceful morning until the second meal rolled around. But then again, the siren should’ve known better than underestimate the boy’s curiosity. That thing was a force to be reckoned with clearly.

Instead, Pine Tree sat down, legs criss-crossed, and rested his chin on both his palms.

“You did something and I want to know what,” he said.

Bill raised an eyebrow. “You already had your question, kid. Give me some meat – fresh this time – if you want an answer.”

The boy only smiled.

“Two can play at loopholes, y’know. I don’t need to give you food if it’s a statement!”

Bill cursed under his breath.

“You’re getting good, Pine Tree, I’ll give you that,” he spat. _A little_ too _good if you ask me,_ he mentally added.

The kid raised an eyebrow. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Bill frowned as he couldn’t think up of a good enough lie. The least harmful outcome was to just tell the truth, but then the lad would report back to the Captain, which could then put him in an even less favorable position if the crew came to the conclusion that he was spying in on them while they were sleeping (which he was, mind you).

Lying, on the other hand, would put him directly into the Captain’s line of fire. There was no way to deny that he had done something, especially not with Pine Tree convinced that Bill had used his powers.

He clearly hadn’t thought this through.

 _Every time I just want to have a bit of fun!_ he lamented silently. _Well, I can_ _’t lie and I can_ _’t tell the truth, so that leaves..._

“If there is nothing obligating you from feeding me every day,” he said instead, deflecting to another subject. “Then what is to say that I am obligated to answer your statement, hmm?”

The boy scoffed. “Because then I’d just tell Grunkle Stan that you used your powers.”

“Ah. But that gives me no more reason to answer your question now would it? Since I would surely die by his blade the moment he hears your lies. If I _do_ answer your statement however, which would be counterproductive in every sense of the way, then I have no guarantee that you will give me sustenance, so whatever option I choose I perish. So the choice is not whether I answer or not but whether I want to die a quick and terrifying death, or a slow and painful one.”

Pine Tree blinked, pausing for a moment as he processed Bill’s intricate wording. If the siren managed to make it confusing enough, maybe he’d even be able to distract the pirate from the issue at hand and make him drop the subject.

“Um... I wouldn’t let you starve because I have a conscience?” he tried.

Bill titled his head in acknowledgement but continued his tirade nonetheless. “Sure, yes, of course, but a pirate is a pirate notwithstanding, and a pirate’s word is definitely not as good as word, even if the words themselves are spoken by a man of his word. I’d like to believe you, believe me, but I do not believe you half as much as you would like nor do I believe you half as much as _I_ would like and I _definitely_ do not believe you half as much as you deserve, and nor should you honestly. Your conscience might be conscious but still unconscious of the consequences of your conscious actions, so my own conscience unconsciously tells me to be cautious of your conscience as your conscience is not conscious of the repercussions of having to deal with me. Understand?”

Tongue-twisters: best in the book.

The speech left Bill gasping for air as the boy only stared, and frowned, before speaking.

“Did you just call me stupid?”

Bill mentally breathed a sigh of relief.

▲▼▲

The rest of that morning was spent teasing Pine Tree about his smarts. Curiosity was one thing, but pride seemed to be another. The kid didn’t take kindly to (maybe) being called stupid, and he vehemently tried to defend himself against Bill’s joking. He got so offended, in fact, that he completely forgot about the maybe-Bill-used-his-powers-aye-or-nay issue to instead try and salvage what dignity he had left (which was none in the siren’s eyes anyway).

He got fed up eventually however, and left in a huff to join his sister that had been staring at them with a devious look on her face for most of their conversation. Pine Tree didn’t know as he had his back turned to her, but Bill had had to deal with her evil maniacal look for the better part of an hour. He wasn’t sure if he approved or not.

But unfortunately for him, Shooting Star wasn’t the only one who had noticed his bickering with the boy.

The Captain and Fatman, along with a few more men with more brawn than brains, had left earlier in the morning to scout the area, leaving Redhead – or Ice Queen (a much more fitting nickname Bill thought) – to keep an eye on the siren and organize the camp with an iron grip.

Bill watched as she approached the twins and started to give a stern talking-to to Pine Tree. The siren could only guess it was about him, for the kid’s behavior was irreproachable apart from that, and his venturing seemed to be proved correct when the boy glanced back over at him with a deep frown on his face. He turned back around, arguing something back to Ice Queen, and all she did was sigh before shaking her head and ruffling his hair.

She left with a few parting words that made Pine Tree blush something fierce and Shooting Star laugh behind her raised hand. He punched her in the arm and she punched back, and they both dissolved into a giggling mess over whatever had just transpired. Bill didn't think anything of it as Pine Tree also tried to fix his hair, patting it down and re-tying it with a string of leather, his cheeks slowly paling back to their original color.

The siren shrugged, bored already, and laid back down onto the box's glass floor in such a way that he did not see the lightbulb light up in Pine Tree's mind, his eyes widening as he stopped tapping the top of his head, nor him stalking his way back to Bill yet again. He did notice, however, when the boy's shadow fell over him.

“Give me back my bandana," he said.

He had his arms crossed, and a truly determined sort of anger portrayed on his face. Perhaps he was trying to look intimidating?

So all he needed was to tie his hair to finally realize. And it wasn't a moment too soon either, Bill thought. He had wondered if the kid was ever going to notice. After all, it wasn’t like he was exactly hiding the bright blue piece of cloth tied to his wrist, especially with it clashing with his entire yellow-ish being.

He clasped his hand protectively over it and narrowed his eyes nonetheless.

"I don't see _your_ name written on it," he hissed.

Pine Tree made a noise of frustration, clearly not up for  _another_ hour of arguing with the siren, as he uncrossed his arms and extended his hand out, as if waiting for Bill to just simply hand it over. _Like that was going to happen._

"You _stole_ it from me! I don't know when, I don't know why, I don't even know how I didn't notice until now, but I want it back," he huffed.

"Exactly!" Bill beamed. "I stole it so now it's mine!"

A pause.

"That's..." Pine Tree's shoulders drooped as he stared at Bill in astonishement. "That's not how it works."

Bill knew that. _Everybody_ knew that. But the kid was just so _gullible_...

Memories of wrong theories and wishful corrections came to mind. Bill brushed them away with a shake of the head.

"Of course it works like that!" he scoffed instead. "Your ban-whatever-it's-name-was is my property now. Because I stole it. From you."

"I _own_ it!"

"Not anymore, you don't."

The boy plopped down onto the ground, yet again, and pouted.

He laid his hand palm up flat. "Bandana. Now," he said, all the while glaring at the siren.

"Why?" Bill tilted his head to the side, a grin on his face. "The messy hair looks good on you."

A pale pink tinted Pine Tree's cheeks yet again and his expression tightened, but he didn't let up. Neither him or Bill moved an inch, and they kept on glaring at each other for what felt like hours before the boy seemed to deflate as he retracted his hand back to his lap.

“Look, I’m not leaving without that thing,” he sighed.

Bill shrugged, hand relaxing around his wrist as he thought himself safe. “If you want it, come and take it,” he taunted. Pine Tree narrowed his eyes.

_In restrospect, he really shouldn't_ _have said that._

Time seemed to slow as Bill watched Pine Tree tilt his body back to give himself momentum, having suddenly hopped up into a crouched position despite his injured ankle. He watched with wide eyes, muscles frozen even though his mind was screaming at him to move, as the pirate lunged towards him, hands outstretched.

His senses booted back up in time for him to raise his arms in front of him as minimal defense, before he felt something collide with his forearms and suddenly the world was tilting backwards on itself.

There was a dull _thud_ as the glass fell to the ground and Bill, along with the water contained in the box, was propelled a few ways off in the mud.

His nails sharpened into claws and the siren growled, baring his teeth, as Pine Tree grappled and tried to grab his wrists. Bill thrashed his tail from where the kid was sitting on it, knocking the human’s knees right from under him and successfully managing to flip them over. He could feel his claws digging into the boy’s wrists, enough to draw small rivulets of blood that mixed with the mud, and Pine Tree could barely move as Bill’s heavy fish tail effectively pinned him to the ground. He cried out as Bill only gripped his wrists harder, and flailed, trying to kick the siren off of him.

Bill could barely hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins as his muscles finally worked after days of hardly any movement, the push and flex making them sing. He didn’t hear the rushing footsteps coming from somewhere behind him, nor the draw of swords or the clicks of guns.

He did hear, however, Ice Queen yell out something – with a voice like hers it was hard to ignore – although he was too far gone to actually _listen._ He could feel his injuries burn like trails of fire down his skin, memories of smoke and yells and bullets fired up, up, up in the air flooding his mind, and he wanted _revenge._ Damn child, damn fishermen, damn hunters, damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_ _…!_

His victim’s forehead collided with his chin and he fell back, groaning and clutching his jaw dizzy. Pain erupted from his back and there was suddenly mud cooling the behind of his head. He stared up at the sun before a boy came into view with cool anger written all across his face and Bill swiped at him, but the kid deftly dodged back, all the while trying to make a grab at Bill’s wrists before the siren shifted his weight and they went rolling.

“Get the _fuck_ away from me you damn bastards, let me go, let me go, let me go, _LET ME GO_ _…!_ _”_

He hadn’t noticed he had been the one yelling.

And the boy was yelling back.

“ _Fucking_ _…_ Calm down, Bill! For Christ’s sake!”

There was a shot.

The lad turned away. “DON’T!” And Bill saw his chance.

He pounced, as ungracefully his tail allowed him to be, and managed to tackle the kid yet again against the mud. The boy gasped, then groaned, then choked as Bill circled his hands around his neck, squeezing. He held himself up, putting all of his weight into his arms, and no matter how much the human tried to kick or pry his hands away, he didn’t even flinch.

Bill growled and the man’s eyes flew open.

“You came to the forest and built your village…” Bill ranted. “And you started to throw your disgusting human droppings into the lake where it poisoned the water…”

One of the lad’s hands tore itself from Bill’s grip and to the side.

“Wendy, don’t…” he rasped. “I got this…”

_Wendy? Who the fuck was Wendy?_

“And then you killed all the fish in the lake, leaving none for us, leaving us to _starve._ And that dumb _bitch_ let her kid get too close to the bank, _and what did you think was going to happen you stupid piece of shit?!_ _”_

Hands on his cheeks, his arms. “Bill, look at me.”

“ _YOU LEFT US NO CHOICE_ _—!_ _”_

“I’m not a fisherman…” the boy underneath him choked. “I’m a pirate. I’m Dipper. I’m the guy who gives you meat thrice a day. I’m Pine Tree.”

A moment of clarity, and Bill loosened his grip immediately. The kid gasped, gulping air in and Bill blinked, eyes owlish as he came back to his senses.

“Pine Tree…”

No child, no village, no hunters.

There was a pressure against his head, and Bill could recognize a gun when he felt one. He froze, and watched as Pine Tree massaged his throat, still panting, before he extended his hand out, palm flat in a stopping gesture.

“Wendy, it’s okay…” he croaked. “I’m fine. Don’t kill him, or Grunkle Stan’s gonna throw a fucking fit,” he ended with a laugh that even made _Bill_ flinch.

There was a nudge against his head, and Bill raised both his arms in surrender, Pine Tree lowering his own back to the ground. Another nudge, and he fell sideways into the mud.

Both he and the kid lay panting beside each other, streaks of mud in their hair and across their cheeks whilst Ice Queen simply kept on leveling her gun towards the siren. Belatedly, Bill noticed that a crowd had formed around the three of them, and he spotted Shooting Star not too far away, wringing her hands. He sighed, and closed his eyes as he let the tension bleed out of his body. Pine Tree seemed to do the same as they basked in the sun.

He had almost killed Pine Tree.

He had _wanted_ to kill Pine Tree.

Bill supposed it wasn’t anything surprising. A siren murdering a man, it wasn’t exactly unheard of. And then there was the whole trapped-in-a-box, had-been-annoying-him-for-days dilemma they had going on, and that sure didn’t help. _And_ in his defense, the boy had attacked him first.

So why did he feel guilty?

 _Because it_ _’s not him you attacked,_ said a voice in his mind. A voice that sounded a lot like Tad Strange that he also would’ve really liked to punch in the face.

 _I'd_ _rather not dwell on that thanks._

_The bad memories won't_ _just go away you know._

_Shut the fuck up._

Having conversations with voices inside his head. That was new.

_You'_ _re drying out, idiot._

_Oh._

Oh.

He hadn’t noticed the prickle in his skin, the sensation of being burned by tiny embers spreading all throughout his body from the inside out. His muscles felt heavy and slow, and there was an ache, dull instead of sharp but definitely there, all across his lower body. He suddenly really _really_ didn’t feel like moving, and the voice that kept on screaming at him to get back to the water slowly snuffed out as his brain fried. He groaned and brought his arms up to shield his eyes because wow was it just him or had the sun become ten times brighter in the last ten seconds?

_Calypso, it fucking hurt._

He started to boil. It felt like there were blisters popping all over his skin and it _itched_ like crazy, and the mud seemed to make it better but even that would dry and crack and then he’d feel _so much worse._ Still, he curled in on himself and whined, slathering cold and merciful mud on his arms, rubbing up and down as if he were freezing when in fact he was _so fucking warm he was melting._ He couldn’t even think past _get colder,_ let alone hear someone call out his voice in concern.

A shadow fell over him and Bill sighed in relief. There were hands grabbing his arms and he was turned around and onto his back, and he cracked an eye open to look at whatever was shielding him from that godforsaken sun.

It was a kid, or maybe a man? Geez, he couldn’t remember. His lips were moving, again and again in the same pattern, as if he was repeating a word, a name maybe? Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin caked in mud, wow he was a mess. The lad shifted a bit and a ray of sunlight hit Bill right in the eye and he hissed, but then panic colored the boy’s face and Bill wanted to take it back. That wasn’t a good look on him, he didn’t like it, make it go away.

“—ill? Bill! Bill, what the hell is happening to you?!” the boy frantically asked.

He was shaking Bill was the shoulders and _fuck_ that was not a good move. Black spots filled the siren’s vision until he went blind for a few seconds, and then when it cleared up the kid had dropped Bill as if he had burned him. Oh hell _,_ he wasn’t contagious, was he?

He tried opening his mouth, say something, make a _sound,_ but his tongue was like paste and _boy_ was he thirsty. Fucking _parched._

He groaned instead and lolled his head to the side. He saw a man in a ridiculous cylinder hat burst out of a bush before closing his eyes, and then there were hands on his cheeks, tapping him over and over, and a voice in his ears screaming, but it didn’t matter. It was leaving anyway, going further and further away, taking the pain along with it.

He embraced blissful dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I BROKE THE 2 CHAPTER POV SWITCH RULE WOOPS
> 
> Also, before I forget to do this for the second fucking time, I gotta link all the gorgeous ficart you've drawn!!  
> [By weirderstar](http://weirderstar.tumblr.com/post/123579387814/i-saw-some-friends-arting-sirenbill-from-the)  
> [By lucilequiquempois](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/post/123589983797/sorry-marshonthemellow-i-struck-again-x) (also features siren!will)  
> [By i-dont-sell-art](http://i-dont-sell-art.tumblr.com/post/123630643865/oh-i-saw-everything-the-siren-applauded)  
> [By hella-lemon](http://hella-lemon.tumblr.com/post/123603912019/designed-a-siren-bill-bc-why-not-read-the-latest)  
> [By goldenstarsaga](http://goldenstarsaga.tumblr.com/post/123616094466/so-i-finished-the-picture-i-think-it-came-out)  
> [By orianagraystuff](http://orianagraystuff.tumblr.com/post/123683095773/youre-dreaming-pine-tree-bill-said-nothing)  
> [By foxydodo](http://foxydodo.tumblr.com/post/123883043190/siren-bill-and-pirate-dipper-based-off-of)  
> [By kittykathalo](http://kittykathalo.tumblr.com/post/124287190857/because-off-the-deep-end-is-fabulous-and-so-is)  
> [By crush-your-soul](http://crush-your-soul.tumblr.com/post/124332157123/a-thing-i-drew-for-marshonthemellows-fanfic-off)  
> [By deanthememe](http://deanthememe.tumblr.com/post/124306571439/trying-to-recreate-the-page-dipper-is-working-on) [(2)](http://deanthememe.tumblr.com/post/124648476944/me-is-a-loser-who-takes-his-art-that-he-did-on)  
> [By chips-dips-and-the-capital-ships](http://chips-dips-and-the-capital-ships.tumblr.com/post/124490001356/i-swear-to-god-never-use-a-tablets)  
> [By minttukka](http://minttukka.tumblr.com/post/124509562713/some-billdip-trash-here-dont-mind-me)  
> [By insidethespiral](http://insidethespiral.tumblr.com/post/120723405101/i-think-i-read-once-that-if-a-siren-sings-it-can)  
> [By eliseybug](http://eliseybug.tumblr.com/post/124696465347/thanks-marshonthemellow-for-inspiring-me-to-doodle)  
> [By juyon-chan](http://juyon-chan.tumblr.com/post/124713862953/i-had-to-draw-something-for-that-fic-i-just-had)


	10. Secco

The siren was out of the water.

The siren was _out of the water_ and it was _dying._

Dipper hadn’t known. He hadn’t known but it was so _obvious._ He had knocked the box over, lunging for the bandana that was rightfully his, and then things spiraled out of control when Bill seemed to disconnect from reality, spouting nonsense about villages and rivers. Out of the corner of his eye, Dipper had seen Wendy approach, hatchet out and ready so swing, but he couldn’t let her do it. The siren’s eyes were clouded over, and it was _crying for God’s sake._

He managed to make it snap out of it, luckily enough. He hadn’t thought it was going to work so easily, but it did and like hell were you going to find him complaining. His throat felt like sand-paper, and his chest heaved as he sucked in much needed oxygen, but relief still flooded over him when he saw Wendy simply push Bill off of him instead of shooting the siren in the head.

They simply lay there, panting and bathing in the sun, and Dipper didn’t think anything of it before he heard a groan of pain coming from beside him.

He turned his head towards the sound. “Bill…?” he rasped.

Bill was curled up on his side, sluggishly slathering mud on his arms, and he was clicking and emitting small trills of distress.

Dipper felt bile rise up his throat.

His skin was bright red, with thin layers of dead skin peeling off in circles all across the siren’s back and shoulders. His scales, on the other hand, were paling to a sickly yellow and were releasing a distinct smell of dead fish that left Dipper covering his nose. His face was scrunched up in evident pain and discomfort while his hair fell in a mess and mixed with the mud, and he whined, low and long, which made Dipper scramble to get up.

“Bill? Oh my _god_ , Bill!”

He gripped him by the shoulders and turned him over, and felt something unclench inside of him when the siren sighed in relief. He must’ve done _something_ right… right?

“Bill? Bill! Bill, what the hell is happening to you?!” He shook him by the shoulders and panicked when the siren’s eyes rolled back and groaned in pain. Dipper dropped him immediately. “ _Fucking…_ Oh god, I’m sorry!” He didn’t dare touch the siren again, not if he was going to hurt him.

Still, when all he did was open his mouth, not a sound coming out, before groaning and letting his head fall to the side like a limp doll, Dipper did not take kindly to the creature fainting on him.

“ _BILL!”_ he screamed. “BILL DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” He slapped him over and over – to hell with not hurting him – but with no effect.

He instead opted to gather up the siren in his arms, palm on his forehead and _jesus_ he was _burning up._

Was he sick? But he was fine just ten minutes ago!

He jumped when he heard someone crash into camp, his focus shifting from Bill to Grunkle Stan making his way towards them, pistol raised and panic-induced concern in his eyes.

Dipper pulled Bill closer.

“Dipper?” Grunkle Stan said, slowly lowering his gun when he took in the scenery in front of him. “We heard you yell. What the hell happened?”

Dipper gazed back and forth at the crew fanning out around him. Wendy had holstered her gun, Mabel was frozen with her hands covering her mouth, Soos wasn’t moving either and didn’t seem like he knew what to do, but the rest of the crew looked on edge. He could see their fingers twitching, just _waiting_ to get rid of Bill with a simple pull of a trigger and Dipper couldn’t let that happen. The hand on Bill’s forehead slipped down to his waist protectively, and Dipper narrowed his eyes, even if he could feel them sting with the beginning of tears. He worked too long and too hard to get along with the siren dammit! He shifted his focus back to Grunkle Stan and… Oh right, he was still waiting for an answer.

“I… I…” he stuttered, sniffled, and had to try again a few more times before getting it right. “I don’t know! I’m sorry! We started fighting and I pushed the box over and... and...”

Grunkle Stan’s attention slid to the mud surrounding them, then to the box just a few feet away, and then back to Bill. He cursed, holstering his pistol to his waist, and marched towards them. Dipper flinched back on reflex and the Captain stopped, palms up flat like he was dealing with a scared animal.

“Siren’s drying out, kiddo,” he said. “Just… We need to get it back in the water.”

Dipper’s eyes fell on the empty box.

“Oh no…” he whimpered. “No, no, no, no, no…” He started rocking back and forth.

Grunkle Stan turned back around. “Soos!” he yelled. “Get the siren and carry it back to the pool!”

Dipper’s head snapped back up at that.

“Pool...?” he whispered, just as Soos jogged his way up beside them, gently prying Bill from Dipper’s hands. He jumped back when Dipper only tightened his grip and wrenched himself away from his reach.

“Mate,” he tried to soothe. “We found a pool of freshwater about a quarter mile away. I’ll carry it.”

“ _I_ can carry it,” Dipper spat back.

Soos only smiled, but there was a concerned glint in his eyes that Dipper _knew_ was there. “Not with your ankle, man.”

Reluctantly, he let Soos grab Bill, and flinched when he threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Mabel frowning down at him. He let her help him up – because Soos was right, his ankle _did_ hurt like hell – and then they were running. Past bushes and past trees, and it didn’t matter if pain shot up his leg every time he took a step because he _wasn’t going to let Bill die._

Even if Mabel was shouting at him to slow down, even if there were things around him that he should’ve taken notice of – like Grunkle Stan yelling at the crew to bring the box with them, or the fact that Soos wasn’t going as fast as he could’ve been – because it was _all his fault_ and he didn’t think he’d be able to live with that knowledge if the worst were to come.

They were going slower than what he would’ve liked. And he couldn’t help but hiss is sympathy as he saw Bill bob up and down with Soos’ movements, hitting his head on the man’s back and that couldn’t possibly be comfortable – even if he was unconscious. Still, they slowed to a stop mere minutes later, and the view Dipper was greeted with stole his breath away, going as far as taking his mind from his impending sense of doom and guilt just for a few seconds.

The pool Soos had mentioned wasn’t as much a pool as it was a small-ish pond. The ground ended in a step about a foot high with ridiculously green grass and small flowers, right in the middle of a clearing with the nearest tree about forty feet away. The boulders, flat stones and bushes encircling it closed it off nicely, with only a small opening facing west. There was an especially big boulder, exactly like the one from the previous campsite, looming over the crystal blue water and casting a shadow under it.

And Soos wasn’t dumping Bill in the pond.

Why wasn’t Soos dumping Bill in the pond?

Dipper pushed him from behind towards the water, but the man didn’t budge. He considered maybe just taking Bill away from him and carrying him himself, but the ache in his leg said otherwise.

“Soos? What the hell! The water is _right there!”_ he yelled, making his way around the man and gesturing wildly towards the pond.

The first mate only shook his head. “I’m sorry mate, but…”

“ _But what?!”_

“But I’m not taking the risk of setting that thing free,” Grunkle Stan finished.

Dipper stared as the rest of the crew poured into the clearing, the ones that weren’t on the scouting mission looking around in amazement at their new surroundings. Four men, each and every one of them faceless in Dipper’s eyes, carried the box on their shoulders while closely following the Captain to the water, before finally dropping it right on the edge. Dipper ran/limped to catch up with them.

“Bill is dying, Grunkle Stan! And the water is _right ther—“_

“ _I know,_ kid!” he sighed, exasperated. He then turned around, yelling at the crew to bring whatever buckets and pans they had brought with them and fill the box up with water.

“THEN WHY AREN’T YOU DOING ANYTHING?!” Dipper screamed. “He’s dry and as red as a lobster and you’re just _leaving him there to rot!_ What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!”

Silence.

So maybe he shouldn’t have yelled at the Captain.

He didn’t much care.

Hands grabbed him by the shoulders as he was brought closer to the pool. The rest of the men began filling the box up with water again, carefully avoiding eye contact with either Pines as they worked. Some seemed twitchy, unhappy, and Dipper felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up. He glanced over his shoulder at Soos who was loitering around, still carrying Bill, waiting for the box to be filled.

He felt betrayed in a way. Soos was a good man, and rarely defied orders. He had only disobeyed the Captain once, on account that Dipper and Mabel’s lives were on the line. But now, even with the smell of dead fish that must’ve surely been assaulting his nose, he’d rather follow orders. Dipper supposed that the siren’s life wasn’t as important as the twins’ then. He glared at the thought, and Soos squirmed.

His attention snapped back to Grunkle Stan when the latter spoke.

“Look, kid,” he said. “We found this pool not an hour ago, and then we doubled back. We don’t know how deep it is, if there’s some sort of underground system that leads back to the ocean… _Hell,_ we don’t even know if there are piranhas or not in there. I can’t take the risk of the siren – what did you call him? Bill? – finding its way back to the ocean and re-joining its colony.”

Dipper felt tears sting in his eyes.

“Not gonna be of much difference if it’s _dead,”_ he spat. “This is cruel.”

The Captain only sighed, before glancing sideways at his nephew with concern. He didn’t have a chance to say anything, however, as the men yelled the box was filled.

Dipper wrenched himself from his Grunkle’s grip immediately and watched as Soos unceremoniously dumped Bill in the box. He flinched when Bill hit the bottom with a _thunk_ and about a quarter of the water splashed out, but the siren didn’t move an inch. He didn’t frown, he didn’t twitch, he didn’t even seem relieved to be in the water again. Still, Dipper rushed to the box and peered over at the siren’s sleeping face, praying for it to not be too late.

He could feel the knot in his stomach loosen when he saw the gills on Bill’s ribs pulsate as they filtered the oxygen in the water, and the color of the siren’s scales come back to their regular shiny gold. His skin was still red, and Dipper supposed that Bill was going to have to suffer an extremely bad case of sunburn for the next few weeks, but at least he was _alive._

Dipper slumped back with a sigh of relief as the revelation sunk in. _Thank god…_

He was dizzy and the pain in his ankle only made matters worse. He closed his eyes, all his energy simply sapped out of him, and gently rubbed his temples as his breath came out in rapid puffs. He felt hands on his shoulders, then under his armpits as he was lifted up and a ways off, and suddenly he found himself resting his back on a tree trunk and Mabel sitting beside him.

They stayed there, resting, watching Wendy, Soos and Grunkle Stan debate over their next course of action; watching the men trickle in and out, moving the stuff from the other camp to near the water; watching them set up their cots and organize a hunting party, and watching Soos and some others displace Bill farther from the pond and closer to the tree line.

Dipper calmed down, his sense of paranoia dimming until he didn’t perceive every single person in the crew as a threat to either him or Bill. Nobody was going to reach for their gun, nobody was going to unsheathe their sword, and nobody was giving the stink-eye to the siren. They were all focused on building camp up again, this time hopefully for good as they had all the resources they’d ever need nearby, and Dipper melted against the bark on his back.

They were safe. Bill was alive. And Dipper wanted to sleep.

Then Mabel cleared her throat.

Dipper blinked, trying to shake away the drowsiness in his heavy eyelids before turning his head towards his sister. She was looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, with the same concern Dipper had seen in both Grunkle Stan and Soos.

He had actually thought he had imagined it. Paranoia and all that.

But she was frowning at him, and he frowned right back. He would’ve straightened his back too if his muscles didn’t feel like jelly, but she put her hand on his shoulder and he took it as an order to rest up.

“You okay, Dipper?” she asked, scooting at bit closer as she inspected him head to toe.

“Well…” he hesitated. In all honesty, he felt like shit – guilty and tired from all the excitement and panic – but he had this feeling in his gut that that wasn’t what she meant. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“That was something, huh?” She avoided eye contact. ”What just happened. With Bill. And the… drying thing.”

“Yeeeesss…” he drawled out. “And…?”

“And you’ve been acting weird, bro-bro,” she blurted out. “I mean, not in the bad weird kind of way, I think, I hope. More like the weird weird kind of way.”

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “The weird weird kind of way. Mabel… Where is this all coming from?”

He kept on staring as she bit her lip and wrung her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the situation even if _she_ was the one to bring it up. He tried to rack his brain for anything that could’ve possibly warranted such a situation, but found nothing. He’d been acting weird? What?

Mabel finally took in a deep breath and spoke. “You… kinda went all mama bear on the siren, you know? It’s a bit scary. Like, you _just_ got almost choked to death by it and then it faints and you went in a frenzy. You were practically _growling_ when Soos tried to take it. And then you screamed your head off when they wouldn’t put it in the water. It’s just… You don’t really get along with Bill, do you? It just doesn’t seem that way. You’re always arguing with each other and I mean it’s cute to watch, but nobody thought you two were _friends.”_

“Uh…”

“You were almost… _animalistic,_ Dipper. And that’s scary. Really scary. I think Grunkle Stan’s worrying if the siren isn’t a bad influence on you.”

“No!” he protested.

Mabel just stared at him, still concerned and maybe even a bit of fearful which made Dipper feel horrible for his outburst.

She… had a point. It seemed so logical at the time, because Bill dying had _“bad”_ written all over it. But overreacting like he did – because that was overreacting, he wasn’t going to lie to himself – was completely out of character for him. It was true, he didn’t get along with the siren. They kind of did, because being able to stand each other at every meal must've count for _something_ , but that was before “civil” went out the window and Dipper attacked Bill for the bandana.

Which, now that he finally had a period of rest, he noticed he had in his possession. The blue of it was practically invisible what with being covered in mud, but there it was, carefully notched in between his thumb and index finger. He must’ve had managed to rip it off Bill’s wrist during the fight, but then completely forgot about it in the following events.

He stared down at it, rewinding and reviewing the fight, the panic, the running, the pond… It was absolutely filthy, but somehow intact. Bill hadn’t ripped it with his claws in the previous days and fights, which was a miracle in itself, especially in the tussle they had just been in. He sighed, a bit embarrassed by his actions, before extending his arm out in an invitation for a hug.

“C’mere,” he said.

He didn’t have to tell Mabel twice before she threw her arms around his torso and rested her head on his shoulder. She wrinkled her nose.

“You smell like fish,” she complained, and Dipper only huffed out a laugh.

“Guess that’s what happens when you tackle a siren, huh?”

A pause.

“… You sure you’re going to be okay?” she asked, peering up at him from under her bangs and he slowly exhaled.

“I tackled him first. I didn’t think, toppling the box over and just letting all the water out… I almost killed him, Mabel.” She opened her mouth to protest but Dipper beat her to it. “I know what you’re going to say: ‘ _But he’s_ not _dead, Dipper.’_ and I know that. But he looks like he’s been to hell and back. He’s injured and _that’s_ my fault; you can’t argue that.”

She tightened her arms around him. “That's the Dipper I know. Still not a killer, huh?” she giggled.

“Nah,” he chuckled. “Just a thief.”

“But why’d you go all protective, though?” she asked.

Dipper thought for a moment before answering. “I felt bad. Like I said, I attacked him first. And then everyone looked like they wanted to eat him and that freaked me out.”

She hummed. “That’s fair. But wouldn’t that be cannibalism?”

“Not if you eat the fish part.”

“ _Gross.”_

They both laughed, and Dipper finally felt the last of the tension leave his body. He watched the crew go back and forth, leaving and coming back with deer and twigs to make a fire. Some were bringing back stones for the fire pit, whilst the cook was diligently building a spit roast. A lot of the men were kneeling near the edge of the water, filling up their flasks as well as splashing their faces to clean up the grime that had gathered up in the last few days, and Dipper thought himself lucky. If Grunkle Stan hadn’t found this pond… He glanced back down to his sister.

“Shouldn’t you be helping setting up camp?” he asked.

“And miss out on not-so-awkward sibling hugs? No way!”

She giggled and he hummed, both going back to people watching. Dipper’s attention, however, slow shifted over to where Bill was.

He was still sleeping, but Dipper could see his chest move up and down as the siren breathed. The water was already a bit brown with all the mud Bill had covered himself with, so Dipper made a note to change the water by the end of the day. Just looking at the box made him feel uneasy, and he wasn’t even the one in it.

He felt the corner of his lips tug down however when he noticed the cover had been placed and locked securely over the opening. There was a relatively large body of water just thirty feet away, and Dipper could feel the impending crushing sense of guilt by just imagining Bill’s reaction when he was going to wake up. Being robbed of his freedom like that, trapped in a small cage for days… He hadn’t wanted to think about it too much before now, but with a bigger and better option so near, even trying to rationalize _why_ they were doing this did nothing to make him feel better. Like he had said to Grunkle Stan, this was cruel.

The Captain was right though. They didn’t know if the pond connected to the ocean. Releasing Bill, even out of the goodness of one’s heart, could doom them all if they lost their only bargaining chip to one day get off his island – because that was Dipper’s theory right now: Bill was Grunkle Stan’s ticket out of here. Not only that, but the golden siren could lead a school of his brethren right back to where they were and then it’d be a repeat of the Arrival Debacle all over again.

He shivered at the mere thought of it.

“You know…” Mabel spoke, snapping Dipper out of his thoughts and he peered back down at her. “I didn’t want to address this now, but seriously?”

Dipper frowned in confusion. “What?”

Mabel unlatched herself from her brother and grinned.

“ _’He’?_ Since when do you refer to the siren as _‘he’?”_

Dipper blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm waaaaay too tired to edit this right now, so if you find any typos, please point them out so I can correct them in the morning, thank you!!! ((I'll also link the ficart in the morning too))
> 
> Also, please make sure to tag your ficart marshonthemellow or mention me in the post by typing @marshonthemellow because otherwise I will not see it. For billdip week for example, there's a lot of siren!bill and pirate!dipper art but since Off the Deep End is not mentioned or tagged in the post, I won't reblog the art and claim it as ficart, because for all I know it's not based of OtDE. Thank you!!


	11. Con Dolore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [lucilequiquempois](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/) who requested a waking up chapter in Bill's POV as well as skype messaged my ass back into writing shape! :3 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Bill woke up to yelling, swearing, and cold, cold water splashing on his face.

His head was pounding, dizzy, sluggish; he opened his eyes to see the world around him spinning and quickly shut them closed, fighting off the sudden bout of nausea crawling up his throat and swallowing back the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. It was too bright, the sunlight hitting down on him, the rays as bright as they would’ve been if he were overwater. He was definitely submerged though, in freshwater even, with no salty aftertaste on his tongue and feeling just like home.

He felt the cool glass panes on his back and elbows, and while the temperature was refreshing, the mere pressure shot stings of pain from just about everywhere and Bill really had to vomit now.

He scrambled up, gripping both sides of the box and hauling his upper half over the edge, emptying his guts out on the ground outside. A hand came up to his forehead, cool and damp, pushing his hair back and away while another one kept a gentle grip on his left shoulder. He threw up what little deer meat his body hadn’t finished digesting, until even bile had run out and he was dry-heaving and about to pass out again.

He felt his arms wobble, and he collapsed, an _‘oh shit’_ coming from somewhere to his right before the hands on his forehead and back encircled his waist and prevented him from crashing into the ground. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as his headache came back tenfold and the person to his side gathered him up in his arms, the distinct smell of sweat, sea and _parchment_ of all things drowning his senses.

_Pine Tree._

He smelled like his journals, always did: paper and ink and faint whiff of leather that got drowned out most of the time by the smell of the sea, or mud, or sweat. The first time Bill had caught his scent was when he had kissed the kid on the cheek before trying to eat him, the second time was when the prick “disinfected” his wounds whilst drunk and swaying, and the third...

The third had a mix of mud and blood and adrenaline thrown in; various snapshots of memories springing to mind: Pine Tree tackling him, him strangling Pine Tree, him burning under the scorching sun and Pine Tree slapping him over the face multiple times.

He managed to blink his eyes open slowly, letting Pine Tree pet his hair and coo soothing sounds at him, his head resting on the lad’s chest as he caught back his breath.

He groaned. “You’re a right piece of shit, you know that right?”

Pine Tree’s torso rumbled as he chuckled lightly, not pausing once in slicking Bill’s hair back.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“No, you aren’t,” Bill corrected. “My cheeks sting. I bet you’re so fucking proud of yourself.”

The hand in his hair stopped and Bill moaned in protest, nudging it with his head.

“No, Bill.” Pine Tree’s voice got serious, and Bill just sighed, too tired to really give a shit. “I’m really sorry. About the fight, about the drying... about _this."_

“Just keep on petting, pirate boy. Helps with the headache.”

Pirate boy just sighed, laughing with a sad undertone Bill didn’t want to look into just now, and started rubbing the siren’s head again. Bill exhaled in relief as the pain subsided just a little bit.

It came back again full force when he finally tuned in on his surroundings though, and the siren swore.

Some burly and ridiculously tattooed man was yelling something unintelligible while waving his hands over his head, red in the face, spit flying from his mouth, a deep frown in his face. He was cursing out some young kid wearing a skull on his shirt, the lad yelling right back, feet rooted to the ground and hands balled into fists. They were loud and not helping.

Pine Tree followed his line of sight and made a noise of understanding.

“Nate – that’s Jolly Roger guy – went out of his way to hunt you a deer since the other one was going bad. Tats didn’t approve of him ‘wasting a bullet for game he’s not even gonna eat’, as he puts it.”

Bill decided then that he liked Nate.

“The fuck is a Jolly Roger?” Bill slurred.

“The pirate flag? With the skull and crossed swords?”

“Why does a skull have swords?” Bill asked, incredulous. “It doesn’t even have hands to wield them.”

Pine Tree snorted. “You’re delirious.”

“Noooo, I’m _hilarious._ ” Bill corrected, nudging the kid’s petting hand with his head. It had stopped and that was just _no._

“Do you even remember what happened?” Pine Tree asked. He felt the boy shift, most likely as to be able to peer down at the siren’s golden mop of hair, and Bill grunted.

“Kid, I have about twenty-fucking-thousand questions right now but I’m too tired to do anything about it. My brain’s been turned to complete mush.”

“Fair enough,” the kid shrugged, and Bill yawned. Pine Tree lowered him back into the box, trying to be mindful of his sunburns, except they were everywhere so it didn’t make much of a difference either way. Bill hissed when his shoulder came in contact with the bottom glass, but his eyelids already felt like lead and his limbs were already asleep, and he could only sigh in relief as Pine Tree gripped his tail – cramped and twisted inside the too small box – and gently moved it to rest over the box’s edge. “Go back to sleep, Bill,” he said. “I’ll finish refilling the box with clean water. Sorry for splashing you there by the way.”

 _Good night,_ the siren tried to say, even if a part of his brain pointed out that it was bright out and most definitely not night, but the only sound his mouth was able to make was “Ngh.” so it didn’t matter much anyways.

▲▼▲

The second time he woke up, he was considerably better. If by “better” you meant “capable of stringing two thought together” and by “considerably” you meant “not immediately puking his heart out”.

So he still felt pretty shitty.

Really really shitty.

He had been scratched, clawed, imprisoned, shook, starved and burned all in the span of less than week, so suffice to say “shitty” didn’t even come close to his actual state of being.

There was no shouting this time around, which helped his pulsing head tremendously, but no gentle hands massaging the pain away either.

_..._

_Gentle massaging hands?_

Boy, this way just getting better and better.

He slowly blinked an eye open, disoriented, too worn-out to actually _move_ – even if it was just by a few inches – and tried to survey his surroundings. He couldn’t focus. Anything farther than a few feet was blurred out and unrecognizable. Still, he could make up vague silhouettes, or at least the ones that were recognizable.

There was huge blob Bill assumed was Fatman talking with a smaller, slender figure. Either Ice Queen or Shooting Star, he couldn’t tell, but it was enough to ground him.

Back in the box, back in the camp, back with the pirates and back on this _freaking_ island.

He groaned and rolled over onto his side, away from the sailors going about their day, and hissed when pain stung along the length of his arm. His muscles spasmed and both his palms smacked against the glass, pushing him up and away. He felt cool water swirl down his back as he lifted himself up, reducing the pain and leaving a tingling sense of _cold_ in its wake. He broke the surface, and immediately yelped as his skin started to sting.

His arms gave out beneath him and he fell back into the box, his elbows and wrists hitting the floor and he shivered.

Maybe he had been numb the first time he had been awake, or maybe his skin had just gotten worse, but he couldn’t even peak out of the water now. The moment air had touched his back, it had felt like his skin was blistering. He let his head hang and his forehead droop to the glass floor, squinting back tears.

A hand fell against his shoulder, curved around as if grabbing him but lacking the pressure to be a real grip. It squeezed its fingers a little, not hurting but hard enough that Bill understood that whoever was clutching him wanted him to get up. He flared his gills – a mimic of taking a deep breath – and shook the hand off. Instead he slowly flipped on his backside, trying not to let any body part collide with the panels of the already really small box. He managed, somehow, to go slow enough so that nothing stung like a third-degree burn, but he still grimaced when his backside met the floor.

The hand was back on his head this time, threading fingers through his hair, and Bill peeked an eye open, his vision slowly clearing up. He already had a guess of who was watching over him and he opened both his eye when he was proven right.

Pine Tree was frowning down at him, clear concern on his face as he kept on petting him. Bill grimaced at the thought – he was not a _pet_  –  and Pine Tree quickly retracted his hand, probably thinking he had somehow hurt Bill.

The siren snorted and blew bubbles at him, all the while snickering at how ridiculous Pine Tree was acting right now. Honestly, since when had the kid started being such a mother hen? He quieted, however, as he remembered Pine Tree’s acting when Shooting Star had had that concussion four days ago.

Slowly, the human’s hand lowered back into the water, and Bill let it. It reached behind his head, cupping his neck, and tugged him upwards. It was creepy. Pine Tree was being so freakin’ _gentle_ and that was _weird_ , okay? Pine Tree meant fists to the face, burning alcohol on his back and full-body slams. Not fingers in his hair and soft caresses. Bill needed him to stop, if only for his sanity. He took a deep breath and slowly sat up. Maybe if he acted like he was alright then the kid would snap out of it and would stop treating him like his friggin’ _sister_.

Pine Tree’s hand slipped from his neck to his shoulder as Bill emerged from the water, steadying him. They both shifted, Bill leaning back on his arms and Pine Tree re-positioning himself so that his shadow hid Bill from the sun. The siren both thanked him and cursed him with a grunt, leaving it up to Pine Tree to decide which one it was.

“So you--”

“How are--”

Both their mouths clicked shut and Pine Tree’s cheeks started to burn a lovely shade of red. The siren snickered, all pearly white teeth he’d had the decency to retract into normal looking molars even though hunger had been twisting his stomach ever since he had woken up.  Pine Tree, meanwhile, squeezed Bill’s shoulder, still red in the face as he seemed to untense. If only judging by the drooping of his shoulders, that is.

“You go first,” he said.

Bill simply raised an eyebrow, peering up at the pirate from underneath his lashes before dropping his gaze back on the hand gripping his shoulder, saying nothing.

Pine Tree jerked back, hand snapping away as if he had made contact with fire, and spluttered, growing redder and redder by the minute. Bill snorted, then cackled, then wheezed and clutched his stomach he was laughing so hard. Pine Tree just stared at him, expression of concern and fear quickly morphing into offense and outrage as he still held his hand close to his chest.

“ _God,_ you fucking _asshole!”_ he whined, eyes rolling and he made a move to punch Bill in the arm, but caught himself just in time before his fist made contact. Instead, he cleared his throat, then crossed his arms and pouted. “And I was being _nice.”_ At Bill’s unimpressed stare, he huffed. “You know, trying to make it up to you? Being a decent human being? Gain forgiveness, or something? _Not that that would be worth much...”_ he muttered that last part.

Bill simply smirked. This was better. Closer to the snark and wit the siren was used to.

“Yeah, sure,” he drawled. “After the shit you pulled? I’m expecting nothing less than friggin’ freedom, sponge-for-brains” he sniffed, sticking his nose up in the air and crossing his arms to mirror Pine Tree. Then, Bill squinted his eyes in thought, and after a few seconds contemplating, stuck his tongue out like Pine Tree had done once.

He mustn’t have done it exactly right though, because the boy was staring at his tongue with wide eyes before he blinked repeatedly, his face quickly twisting into some weird mix of horror, sorrow and offense.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Bill shrugged. “Worth a try,” he reasoned.

Pine Tree rolled his eyes. “As much as I would _love_ to be rid of you…”

“Wow, rude.”

“... You can’t go back to the ocean, sorry.”

Bill simply crossed his arms and shrugged again. He knew that – the message had been beaten into his head repeatedly ever since he had first woken up in the fucking box – and while he didn’t want to admit it, hope of ever getting out was dwindling bit by bit.

He shook the thoughts out of his head.

He didn’t want to think about it.

After a moment of silence, Pine Tree spoke once more. “I’m going to guess that you feel better now, just judging by your special brand of asshole-ness today.”

“Pfft!” Bill scrunched up his nose but was still smiling nonetheless. “I mean, _sure!_ Why not? Just got slapped and almost burned to death on top of getting mauled a few days back. I’m doing just _great_ . _Really._ ”

Bill had expected a sneer, a quip, some sort of comment on how Pine Tree was glad to hear it, completely ignoring the obvious sarcasm in the siren’s tone. Instead, the boy frowned, lips turning down at the corners, before lowering his eyes into something akin to _guilt,_ of all things.

“I’m…” he started, playing with the sleeves of his red shirt. “Just… I-I’m sorry. I’ve been… Tackling you for a _bandana_ was really overkill, wasn’t it?  I _tackled you to the frigging ground_ for a piece of _cloth._ ” He emphasized his point with some strange hand gesture and Bill could only stare, mouth gaping.

“Wait what--”

The boy looked up, eyes wide and pleading that left Bill speechless. “I swear, okay?” he said. “I swear I didn’t actually know you could die without water and I didn’t know it would cause you so much pain. Fucking… I’m stupid, I know! I got carried away and it’s _my_ fault and I’m just really really sorry and... Just… _I’m not a killer, okay?!”_

_Uh...._

“You’re not a killer,” Bill repeated. Because really, what else could he say?

“I’m not!” Pine Tree stressed out the words and looked like he was on the verge of a panic and this was way worse than him being a concerned mother hen. _What the fuck._

“Okay then,” Bill said, slowly and clearly and much calmer than he actually felt. “You’re not a killer.”

Pine Tree’s eyes fell back down to his hands as he hung his head. He whispered. “I’m not…”

Bill reached up and extended his arm out to tap the lad on the shoulder in a semblance of comfort. “You’re not.”

_What am I even doing?_

He awkwardly patted the boy on the shoulder a few more times before taking his hand back and crossing his arms, swallowing. He looked around, not knowing what exactly to do with the pirate in front of him so he just… ignored it. Let the problem fix itself.

He belatedly noticed that the sun was setting, the sky marked with hues of oranges and yellows and the clouds few and far between. The air was warm, and the wind was still, and the pirates had deposited him close to the trees but not close enough so that the canopy shielded him from the sun. He must’ve had slept through the whole day.

It didn’t occur to him before much later that a lack of canopy meant _no trees_ and that _no trees_ meant a clearing of some sort.

He curiously peered around, taking the time to examine his surroundings now that all his attention wasn’t riveted on Pine Tree. The trees were on his left, the pirate camp on his right. They all seemed cheerful enough, which was quite the contrast to their grumbling and glaring from just yesterday. Bill wondered what changed…

He turned his head a fraction to look a bit beyond the camp, but Pine Tree’s face suddenly popped right in front him, startling the siren and making him jump.

“Piece of--! _Ow!”_ His back collided with the wall of the box, sending sparks of pain up his spine and down his back, and the siren hissed.

“Oh Christ, I’m sorry!” Pine Tree’s nervous expression quickly made place for concern and the boy lunged, grabbing Bill by the arms and steadying him.

“For someone trying to help,” Bill complained. “You really are doing a shit job at it.”

“Piss off.”

“I would if I could.”

Pine Tree stuck his tongue out in response. Yet this time, Bill took the time to notice the little details: his nose was scrunched up, and his eyes squinted with a frown. He also had stretched his neck up, tilting his chin forwards while peering down at the siren. Bill tried to mimic it again.

Judging by Pine Tree’s lack of reaction this time, he guessed he did it right.

“Aaanyways…” The pirate rolled his eyes before reaching for something on the ground beside him. It was a small grey bundle stained with blood. Pine Tree unwrapped it, revealing a fresh and bleeding chunk of meat, and Bill’s mouth watered at the sight. He had slept through the day, hadn’t he? So that’d make yesterday the last time he’d eaten.

He tossed it to Bill, who promptly started tearing at it with his teeth. Pine Tree’s face twisted in disgust for a few seconds before he schooled it back into a mask of indifference, though he did seem a little green…

“Hhnsh, ‘oneshly ‘ine Thee,” Bill huffed, mouth full. ”Yuve sin me eat planty o’ times al’eady.”

“ _Christ,_ don’t open your mouth with food in it!” The boy looked away and paled, and Bill sniggered. Still, he swallowed before speaking again.

“What’s-a-matter, pirate boy?” he teased. “Did you suddenly grow faint of heart while I was getting my beauty sleep? Oh, poor weetle Pine Tree can’t stomach the sight blood! Whatever shall we do?”

That seemed to do it. With Pine Tree thinking his pride was hurt, he squared his shoulder and met the siren’s gaze. If he were to be honest with himself, Bill thought he was getting the hang of this.

“Just eat the freakin’ meat,” the man sighed.

And Bill did just that. Whatever deer this flesh came from must’ve been killed just this morning, with how fresh the meat was. The siren vaguely remembered something about a Nick? Nathan? getting yelled at for hunting.

Swallowing the chunk he had ripped off and pausing before taking another bite, Bill opened his mouth to speak again.

“So what’s your question?” he asked.

Pine Tree looked at him in astonishment. “What?”

The siren paused in munching. “Yo’ queshion,” he said, then swallowed at Pine Tree’s unimpressed stare. “Did I hit your head or something? You give me food and I answer one of your questions. That’s the deal.”

Pine Tree’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No! There’s no need for that! You can… It’s… It’s only fair that you be able to eat without me threatening you.” He looked sheepish and Bill shrugged. Then frowned. Getting food and not having to do anything in return should’ve pleased him but...

“Deal’s a deal, kiddo,” he said, not bothering to look into his emotions right now but still acting upon them nonetheless. “Ask me about the weather for all I care, but at _least_ have a question at the ready for the love of Calypso.”

Pine Tree kept silent, his face completely neutral while Bill just kept on eating. The siren raised an eyebrow as the boy looked him up and down. He seemed to settle on Bill’s forearm, and he raised a hand to gently grip it and bring it closer to him. Gently, he rubbed his thumbs in a circular motion at the red skin there.

“You heal fast,” was all he said. The he looked up. “Faster than you did for the last five days. Why?”

Bill made a noise of confusion “I don’t know what you mean.”

“The scratches on your back are almost gone,” the lad explained. “The bruises completely disappeared as of a few hours ago, and your skin looks like it’s getting better.” At Bill’s snort, he smiled and shrugged. “Not by much, sure, but it’s clearly healing. With how severely you were burned, Wendy said you’d be out of commission for at _least_ a few weeks, and that once you’d wake up we’d have to treat you with vinegar.”

“With _what_ now?” Bill asked incredulously.

“Human concoction,” Pine Tree chuckled. “Smells horrible and tastes horrible, but it’s good for sunburns.” He looked back down at Bill’s hand he’d trapped within his. “Now you’re skin is at what it normally would’ve looked like five days from now, but it’s only been a day. Why is that?”

Bill thought for a moment. That _was_ strange. If anything, he was always the _slowest_ to heal while all the others in the colony would be right back up from the worst injuries in day or two. While Arnold and Tad would be as good as new from a shark attack in less than five days, it took Bill at _least_ a week to heal all of his bruises. He supposed that was because they were natives of here while he came from the north so…

He snapped his fingers as the answer popped in his head. “Oh!” He smiled, all sharp teeth still bloody from his meal. “Yeah, I know! It’s because you changed to water!”

Pine Tree tilted his head sideways and frowned. “Huh?”

“The water in the box! It’s freshwater!” Bill’s eyes lit up as that information finally caught up with him. With his free hand, he splashed the water coming at about waist level and laughed at the comforting feel of it. “I was born in a lake up north, where the water isn’t as salty, so I heal better and faster in freshwater than ocean water. If you had captured anyone else in the colony, they’d be natives of the Caribbean and would heal faster in ocean water than in freshwater, you see.” He proudly nodded at himself for his explanation.

Pine Tree’s eyes were also alight with interest at this unexpected piece of information. Bill expected him to leave immediately, limping back to wherever he had laid his bed and start scribbling in that journal of his, just like he had done every previous time. However, Pine Tree didn’t budge.

A thought occurred to Bill then. They were in the middle of a friggin’ island. Where the fuck would Pine Tree have even _found_ freshwater?

He opened his mouth to ask, but Pine Tree beat him to it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” the boy asked meekly.

Bill frowned at him in confusion. “What?”

“Um…” Pine Tree let go of Bill’s hand to rub at the back of his neck. “You… You just said you weren’t from here. And uh… I don’t know if you remember but you kinda went… somewhere else yesterday. You know, while we were fighting. Something obviously happened, something painful so… Do you want to talk about it?” His voice had gotten quieter and quieter as he kept on talking, finishing almost in a murmur and Bill had to strain to hear him.

Memories of fire, hunger, filth and fear clouded Bill’s mind before he violently shook his head.

“No.” His voice had gone flat, and his face neutral.

Pine Tree’s shoulders sagged in relief and he released whatever breath he had been holding. “Oh, _thank God._ Feelings are more Mabel’s thing anyways.”

Bill sniggered.

▲▼▲

Pine Tree left not long after that, as night had fallen while they were talking and he needed rest. Bill too, for that matter. Add the stress of his injuries to the emotional turmoil that was Pine Tree, it didn’t leave him with much energy to begin with.

At least it had been companionable, he thought. Strange, but welcome. The snark and sass that used to annoy him now felt like a comfort, probably because the other alternatives were just… _weird._

So he slept. He was too exhausted to spy on the crew in the physical world, much less in the dreamscape. At least Pine Tree was kind enough to leave the box open, lid off and resting on the ground somewhere near, and Bill’s tail hung out of it, fins grazing the ground. The edge of the cage dug in uncomfortably but it was still better than having himself folded in half, honestly. He lay on his side and his hands curled up near his chest, breathing deeply through his gills and letting the cool water soothe the sting of his burns.

He let himself be carried away inside a fabricated dream instead of his lucid dreamscape. He didn’t feel like dealing with the things going on in his mind right now, and would much rather ignore them in favour of whatever random scenario his brain would cook up for the night.

He should’ve known better.

He couldn’t move.

 _Well this is a good start,_ he thought.

He tried to turn, to twist, to flail, but something stopped him. Something dug at his wrists and the corners of his mouth and belatedly he realized he was tied. And gagged. He couldn’t make more than a muffled cry and his arms were painfully taut against his back.

He slammed into something cold. Metal. Bars. Not wide enough apart for his tail to spill through so he was once again cramped into an uncomfortably small space. It may not have been the glass box, but it wasn’t much of an improvement either. He felt anger and panic rise inside him.

_Where was he?_

_What happened to me?_

Suddenly, a ray of sunlight hit him right in the eye and he flinched. It didn’t hurt though, not like it did the first or second time he had woken up, but it caught him by surprise nonetheless. It came from above him, refracted by the water Bill now noticed he was submerged him, and everything else around him was pitch black. All he could see was the dark grey of the rusting metal cage, the blue and green of the water, and the blinding white of whatever annoying light left him squinting.

Then a laugh rang. Deep and rumbling, coming from deep within the chest. Soon, other laughs, nasal, deep, young and old accompanied it and the light above him expanded, revealing whatever lay outside the barred walls.

He froze, cold fear clawing up his throat as his eyes widened.

Faceless pirates. Or hunters. Or fishermen. He couldn’t tell, but he felt the danger oozing out of them. They laughed at him, taunted him, _little siren so fierce so brave, now trapped in a box with nowhere to go, where’s your freedom little one, where’s your family little one, you have nowhere to go little one._

_You’ll pay for your sins!_

_Child-killer!_

_Go! Leave! Don’t look back!_

_We’ll catch you, monster!_

_Beautiful specimen. How much?_

_You tried to kill me, it’s a reasonable doubt to have._

_Stop that!_

_That’s a lie, that’s a lie, that’s a lie, lie, lie._

_You’ve got some nerve, Cipher!_

_You are untrustworthy, dangerous, and just one more burden my men have to carry around._

_DON’T!_

He screamed.

He sprang forward, sitting up only belatedly registering the pain crawling up his back, and breathed. His gills burned, his eyes more so, the voices still echoing inside his head.

_I’m not a killer…_

He heaved, his throat hoarse as he panted. Sweat mixed with water dribbled down his forehead and neck, and he shivered, slamming his eyes shut and shaking his head.

_I’m not a killer…_

Slowly, he calmed. His heart slowed back down to a regular beat, and he inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled.

_I’m not a killer._

He spun around, taking in his surroundings. Trees to his left, camp to his right. Pirates sleeping around a dying fire, snoring away and mumbling in their sleep. Bill knew where he was.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the ball of his hands. A nightmare. Because the world wouldn’t even let him have a proper night’s sleep. Fucking hell.

The siren sighed, tense shoulders relaxing, before flopping back down into the water, ignoring the pain in his back. He gazed up towards the sky where the stars shown brightly, letting them root him in place. Caribbean, island, pirates.

He needed to get a grip. He became too disoriented too many times, and he’d need to get his head in the game if he was going to survive. There was no time or place for weakness here.

He also wasn’t going back to sleep. Not after this.

He needed some way to get out. Or at least, somewhere a bit spacier. The nightmare left him feeling claustrophobic, and the box made him shiver. He needed to get out. Now.

_But where?_

The ocean was miles away. There was no point in trying to get the pirates to let him go. Maybe… Maybe he’d have to sing. What else did he have left? Kill them. Most of them. Entrance the few survivors in carrying him back to the beach.

_I’m not a killer._

_Shut the fuck up._

Bill swung his head left to right, dispelling the last few voices haunting him. Get a grip. Clear your head. _Think._

He came to a rest, his head tilted to the right, and slowly opened his eyes. He saw the pirates first, then the fire. A bit beyond were more pirates sleeping under tents, supplies of food and tools lying haphazardly throughout the camp. The one pirate that was supposed to stand vigil was sleeping against a rock, pistol held in a loose grip, and just a bit beyond that...

Bill felt as if something died inside him.

Water. Lots of water. A big giant fucking pool of water and it was just _there._

It was big. Big enough to let him swim in lazy circles if he wanted, and he’d be willing to bet it was deep enough for him to escape the pirates’ continuous scrutiny too. It was so _close_ but he was stuck here inside a fucking _box,_ where he was cramped and twisted and fet as if his muscles were slowly shrivelling up every day that passed.

And Pine Tree had done _nothing._

Rationally, he knew that wasn’t true. He couldn’t _know,_ not for sure. Not when he was unconscious for the better part of the day. He also knew that no pirate sane of mind would’ve dumped him inside the thing either. A small voice in his head kept on repeating it to him. With all logic, it was a tragedy that Pine Tree,  or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t had the kindness to transfer him from box to pond, but it wasn’t the lad’s fault.

Pine Tree didn’t have the authority. Hell, he was probably already in trouble for saving and healing Bill! Why _would_ it be Pine Tree anyways? Shooting Star had been defending him for days hadn’t she? And yet Bill didn’t find himself bothered at the thought that she didn’t free him either. It was Pine Tree. Pine Tree left him alone surrounded by pirates but he was a pirate himself and _Bill’s mind didn’t make sense._ His thoughts were running in circles, never arriving at a conclusion and the siren had _no control._

He gripped his hair in a death clutch, face pale as he whimpered, but never took his eyes off the pond not twelve paces away.

It’s not that Pine Tree wouldn’t, he _couldn’t._

 _But what_ if _he wouldn’t?_

The thought scared him.

He knew, yet he _felt_ something that shouldn’t have bothered him in the first place. If anything, he should’ve been outraged, angry, claiming that he deserved better and should be given better. That, or he should have retreated into himself. Become cold and calculating, plotting a way of manipulating the people around him to into transferring him to the pond. Instead, Bill’s mind spiralled.

It hurt. And Bill didn’t know why.

It was a hurt that bloomed from the middle of his chest and spread to his heart, neck, and pit of his stomach. It left him gasping for breath and choking back tears. Yet it wasn’t physical. It wasn’t a burn, or a gash or a scratch. It wasn’t something he could fix with a meal, or water, or alcohol or bandages. It filled him with rage. Why the _fuck_ was he reacting like this?! It was undignified!

His head swam. Desire for water, hurt he couldn’t identify, panic, fear, anger, confusion at his own emotions clouding his rational mind...

_He did nothi-_

_No one would’ve let hi-_

_He wouldn’t have done it anywa-_

_I don’t know th-_

_He betrayed me._

 

Betrayal.

 

That was it, wasn’t it? The hurt in his chest.

 

_Why? I never trusted him._

_Could’ve fooled m-_

_He’s a means to an end. I’m using him. I am._

_No, I’m studying him. He’s a threat, a mage._

_He doesn’t trust_ me. _Why do I trust_ him?

_You care._

_I don’t-_

_You do._

_I shouldn’t._

_But you do._

_Why?_

_Because you’re weak._

_No._

_He said he wanted forgiveness._

He said he wanted forgiveness.

It was as if a bucket of cold water washed over Bill. His head cleared, emotions retreating and carefully locked deep deep inside, and the siren started thinking. Intelligently. He was back in his element, something he knew and was skilled at. It would keep him distracted, and he clutched at that distraction like a lifeline.

He remembered.

_“God, you fucking asshole!” Pine Tree whined and rolled his eyes. “And I was being nice. You know, trying to make it up to you? Being a decent human being? Gain forgiveness, or something? Not that that would be worth much...”_

_“Yeah, sure,” Bill had said. “After the shit you pulled? I’m expecting nothing less than friggin’ freedom, sponge-for-brains.”_

Perfect.

A means to an end.

 _So you_ are _using him,_ the little voice in his head peeped. It sounded concerned, but Bill ignored it, locking it away with the same emotions he was steadfastly shoving out and bottling up.

He had a pond to get to.


	12. Recitative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I BLAME [LULU](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/) FOR [THE](http://lucilequiquempois.tumblr.com/post/136109914232/merry-christmas-marshonthemellow-3) [THING](https://www.tumblr.com/search/billtonguememe) (you'll know it when you read). Also, you can find the song featured in this chapter [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63ul8P2HGPg).

Dipper thought he did a _great_ job.

Night had fallen, and he was lying on his cot, staring at the stars up above. On one hand, he counted down everything he had done today, everything he had _had_ to do today, and everything he had done right.

To do today:

  * Get his ankle re-bandaged
  * Change the water in Bill’s box
  * Ask Wendy about Bill’s condition
  * Feed Bill once he woke up
  * Apologize to Bill
  * Apologize to Mabel
  * Apologize to Soos
  * Apologize to Grunkle Stan
  * Make sure Bill doesn’t notice the pond
  * Convince Stan to transfer Bill to the pond



What he did today:

  * Woke up Bill
  * Comforted him
  * Probably hurt him in the process
  * Called him an asshole
  * Had a mini-breakdown because of guilt
  * Asked a question about his healing in exchange for meat (curse his curiosity)
  * Offered psychological help
  * Completed most things on his to-do list



What he _successfully_ did today:

  * Got his ankle re-bandaged (he was already walking a little better)
  * Changed the water in Bill’s box
  * Comforted him
  * Asked Wendy about Bill’s condition
  * Apologized to Wendy
  * Apologized to Mabel
  * Apologized to Soos
  * Apologized to Grunkle Stan
  * Fed Bill once he woke up (the second time)
  * Called him an asshole (that was a success no matter how much Mabel disapproved)
  * Made sure Bill didn’t notice the pond



All in all, he felt pretty confident in himself.

Sure, there were some things he hadn’t been able to do. Or more like just _one_ thing, in fact. He had finished apologizing to Wendy, Soos and Mabel for his behaviour the previous day — for yelling and worrying them — and had marched over to where Grunkle Stan was arguing with yet another crew member. That was something that was happening a bit more often than what would be considered comfortable actually.

No respectable pirate would ever actually _argue_ with a pirate Captain. “Arguing” mainly involved a crew member meekly communicating a worry shared by the crew, and then the Captain would dismiss them with either a snide remark or a promise to look into the problem.

However, this particular crew was a bit more... _ballsy_... than normal, Dipper would say. Or maybe they were just on edge, considering present circumstances, which would’ve been completely justifiable. They started off as twenty, then lost seven men on that first night. Out of the fourteen pirates left, only five had guaranteed loyalty to the Mystery Shack: Stan, Soos, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel.

That left nine men. Nine men who were scared, tired, and grumpy. Nine men Dipper couldn’t _know_ he could trust at his back.

As he stood a bit to the side, waiting for Stan and Tats — because it was Tats the Captain was arguing with — to finish talking, Dipper thought of those nine men.

Tats and Nate were the first to come to mind. They had loudly and vehemently yelled at each other that morning about hunting for Bill. Dipper grimaced as he also remembered how their arguing had visibly pained the siren. Nate had argued that their “prisoner” had behaved itself ever since their arrival AND that it had saved their lives, whilst Tats defended his point about saving ammunition.

Objectively, Dipper knew they were both right in their own sense. Subjectively, Dipper liked Nate better.

There was also that one creepy guy from a few days back. Their human-compass, the one who had chanted _“The siren is cursed. The Captain is keeping secrets,”_ over and over. Dipper didn’t remember his name, but he was starting to doubt that the man ever even told the crew. Dipper didn’t like him either.

Then came Lee, Nate’s best friend; Ghost-Eyes, a blind ex-convict recruited for his muscles; Bratsman, a businessman that went shit out of luck but knew his way around spanish rapier; Deuce, a simple pirate but Soos didn’t like him because they looked a bit alike; Earl, a pirate ex-Captain brought on for his alleged experience with mermen; and Davey, who used to be part of Earl’s crew.

Dipper made a list within his mind. On one side: _PEOPLE WHO DON’T LIKE BILL._ On the other: _PEOPLE ~~I~~_ _~~THINK~~ I _ _CAN TRUST._

On the _“PEOPLE WHO DON’T LIKE BILL”_ list: Tats, creepy compass guy, Ghost-Eyes (the grumpiest in the crew, and vocally expressed his displeasure with the siren and threatened physical harm many times), Bratsman (said he wanted to sell the siren, or maybe just its golden scales), Deuce (paranoid, nervous, and never really liked the Mystery Shack to begin with), Earl (wanted to ‘feast on the siren’s flesh’ like _what the fuck_ ), and Davey (thought Bill beautiful which Dipper guessed was fine but he still didn’t like the way he looked at the siren, as if he wanted to eat Bill like candy or something).

The _“PEOPLE ~~I~~_ _~~THINK~~ I _ _CAN TRUST”_ list, on the other hand, included Grunkle Stan, Wendy, Soos, Mabel, Nate and Lee (the latter because he and Nate were inseparable, so Dipper assumed that they both at least shared similar opinions about Bill, which was important in their situation he guessed — stranded on an island with a siren and all that).

The “ ~~ _THINK I_~~ _”_ part came from the fact that Dipper knew Grunkle Stan, Wendy and Soos didn’t like Bill either, but he hoped they would at least defend him, as they did in their efforts to keep him alive yesterday. Lee and Nate were a gamble, but they got along with Wendy, so they got along with he and Mabel, and Dipper thought them nice enough.

It still felt pretty lonely. But at least he could count on Mabel, he thought.

He made a mental note to look out for the ones on that first list though. You never could too careful, and in a way his paranoia felt like a comfort. It gave him something to do, something to focus on other than Bill’s health. He liked his paranoia, and usually it never got too out of hand.

 _Except for yesterday that is,_ a little nagging voice in the back of his head said. It sounded a lot like Mabel.

He sighed in response. _I know, I know. Sorry._

His attention snapped back to the people in front of him as Tats pivoted around on his foot, gritting out a forced ‘Sir, yes sir.’ before stalking away towards Bratsman and Davey. The two were sitting on a log, sharpening their swords, all the while blatantly staring where Bill was still sleeping in his box. Dipper flexed his fingers, debating whether he should go put himself between them and Bill and talk to Grunkle Stan later, or go with his original plan check up on the siren after the rest of his tasks were done.

His decision was made for him though when the Captain sighed, rubbed at his face, and spotted his nephew standing just a few feet away.

“Oh, Dipper,” he said, an expression of relief overtaking his face before it morphed into a frown. “Right. Somethin’ ye wanna ask me, kid?”

“Well, um…” he shuffled, wringing his hands together. To say he was nervous was an understatement. The Captain was a scary man when he needed to be, but Dipper had to ask. He glanced to the side, towards the siren, and felt his resolve harden. Mabel had first said it days ago, and now he was about to say it to: they already knew Bill wasn’t going to hurt them (yesterday notwithstanding) so they weren’t going to treat him like a prisoner anymore.

He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

“Captain,” he started. “I wanted to apologize for my behaviour yesterday.” He glanced to the ground, shoulders hunching a bit once again at yesterday’s memory. “I publically questioned your authority and…” He scanned the area around them, carefully eyeing the crewmen. “During present circumstances, or any circumstance really, I realize my outburst was _severely_ misplaced. Especially now. I lacked respect and I’m sorry.”

Grunkle Stan just nodded gravely, arms crossed, before breaking out into a smile and slapping Dipper over the back, nearly sending him flying.

“Don’t worry about, kid,” he said, laughing. “Not gonna say I appreciated ye lil’ stunt...” He gave him a meaningful look, clearly telling him to _not do that ever again._ “... but these chumps ain’t gonna be no problem. They know their place,” he reassured.

Dipper simply nodded and laughed meekly, regaining back his balance and swinging his arms behind him. It kept him from biting his nails, something no one on the Mystery Shack liked to see him doing.

Grunkle Stan raised an eyebrow as Dipper stayed, clearly expecting him to leave after apologizing, because what else would the kid possibly have to say?

“Something else you wanna tell me, kid?”

“I’d like to put in a request for the siren to be transferred to the pond.” Dipper talked slowly, carefully enunciating each word as he tried to keep a lid on his nerves. He let out a shaky breath at the end of his sentence, and waited for the Captain’s reaction. This could go either two ways…

He watched, gulping audibly, as Grunkle Stan’s inquisitive expression fell to a deadpan, and then to a long suffering sigh.

“You know, Dipper,” he said. “I’m not even surprised.” He threw his arms up in the air before patting his nephew on the shoulder. “You’re a smart kid, laddie. You know my answer’s no.”

Dipper did, in fact, know. There had been no hints that Grunkle Stan ever thought of Bill as trustworthy, or at least as not dangerous. Yet…

“I sent Lee to scout out the pond,” continued the Captain. He shrugged. “He’s still alive so it’s a good guess there ain’t any monster fish in there. The source goes deep, and I mean _really_ deep. Man didn’t have the enough breath to swim all the way to bottom.”

That was good news, Dipper guessed.

“With all due respect sir,” he said instead. “There can’t be any passage between the pond and the ocean if the pond is filled with freshwater.”

Grunkle Stan grimaced and nodded. “Aye. Wendy reminded me. Should’ve known that honestly, but must’ve slipped my mind. Gettin’ along on those years, aye?” he shrugged and grinned, nudging Dipper with his elbow in an effort to make him laugh.

It worked, if only a bit, and Dipper chuckled. Still, he soon reverted back to his serious expression, and the Captain silently deflated at the sight.

“Then if nothing’s wrong…” the younger tried.

The Captain squinted at him and grunted, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. “The siren is _not_ going in that pond and that is final. Out with ye, boy.”

“Why?!” Dipper desperately wanted to shout at the man, stomp his feet even if that would get him anywhere, but he had just apologized for lacking respect and he wasn’t about to do that again now. So he made sure to keep his voice even, but his face still showed all his emotion. “Bill _saved_ us. He didn’t do anything hostile since then, and yesterday’s fight was _my_ fault, not his!” he tried to reason.

“We don’t just go around freeing our prisoners, lad.” The Captain’s face was stern

“ _He’s not…!”_ Dipper paused in his protests and backtracked. “Uh… Yeah, okay, he is. But the pond is as effective a prison as the box! There’s nowhere for him to go!”

“Dipper…”

“You’re Captain Pines!” the pirate ground out, seething. “Fearsome and uncatchable and unpredictable, but you’re not _cruel!”_ After a second’s silence, he added: “… Sir.”

The older man just sighed.

“Look, kid,” he started.  “I don’t like the siren, and the siren doesn’t like me. But, like you said, even I ain’t that much of a heartless ol’ codger. Just between the two of us? I don’t think Bill, as you call him, is as much as a threat as good ol’ Tats o’er there, and that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? I’d dump the siren in the pond and be done with it, aye? But there’s a risk of mutiny here, laddie. And it might just be splittin’ the crew in half. I can’t risk that.”

Dipper paused, stunned, before deflating as understanding washed over him. No, of _course_ Grunkle Stan wasn’t doing this out of uncharacteristic cruelty. It relieved him, in a way, yet still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s the six from the new crew, isn’t it? Those except Nate and Lee?”

The Captain nodded, arms crossed. “Aye. They’re pirates, so can’t say they’re good men, but present circumstances pushed them to their limits I’d say.”

Dipper sighed, deflating even more as his lists were confirmed. Six versus seven then, effectively splitting the group in half. Of course Grunkle Stan didn’t want to risk all out war with them.

“Thank you, sir,” he said and bowed his head a bit before taking a step back. “I’ll be tending to the prisoner.”

And with that he left.

As he walked back towards where Mabel was chatting with Soos, the conversation replayed in his mind. He still felt guilty, and bad, and angry at Grunkle Stan, though at the same he did not. His emotions mixed with happiness and relief. Happiness, because for a time he had feared his Captain wasn’t a man whom decisions he could respect anymore. Relief, because at least the man felt the same as him and “wouldn’t mind” transferring Bill into more “open” waters. He was still pissed that Grunkle Stan wouldn’t let Bill out in the pond, yet he understood the man’s reasons.

Other people cared for Bill.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

▲▼▲

Bill didn’t wake up the whole day, and Dipper started to worry. He didn’t _think_ the siren had a concussion, but maybe he hit his head the day before and Dipper simply hadn’t noticed. He swore to himself. He shouldn’t have let Bill sleep.

He nervously bit his nails, fretfully dividing his attention between Mabel and Bill, switching his staring back and forth. After a while, Mabel just swatted him on the back of the head and told him to check on the siren already. She steered him towards Nate, who had taken it upon himself to guard the deer he had killed that morning, and Dipper looked back over his shoulder and smiled in thanks.

Nate had beamed at him as he strode over to him. He had gladly cut off a slice of the deer’s hind and enveloped it in a piece of cloth, bloody and all. They didn’t speak much other than the polite please and thank you, yet Dipper didn’t feel like more was necessary. Silently, they both acknowledged they had each other’s back, and that left Dipper with a bit more confidence as he walked away.

It was sunset, the sky darkening, but the still bright enough to be painful to Bill apparently. Dipper swore and ran as he saw Bill wake up, toss and turn and try to lift himself up, only to collapse with a yelp on the box’s floor. He winced in sympathy as he kneeled at the siren’s side.

It hadn’t been easy, and their exchange left him exhausted. His emotions went from concerned, to offended, to guilty, to panic, to anxious, to calm, to content, to disgusted, to guilty _again,_ to contemplative, to worried, to fascinated, to shy, to nervous and finally to relief. In less than half an hour.

Drained didn’t even come _close_ to it.

Intense emotions, spiking from one extreme to the other like a ship rocking the waves of a storm, didn’t leave him with much energy to stay up and chat. So he left. He had quickly jotted down that interesting piece of information Bill had given him in his journal (the section about sirens now spanning over five pages) and now here he was; going over his list and analyzing his day.

He remembered, right after his little meltdown about not being a killer _(he was a thief, he killed only his attackers and even then he always tried to trap them in some way or another. The crew often teased him for having a higher prisoner-count than all of them combined, but he took it in stride)._ He had been distracted, and Bill obviously had no idea what to do, so the siren took the time to look around him as Dipper calmed himself down.

Luckily, he had been able to literally block Bill’s line of sight by scaring the shit out of him, and then distract him from any other looking around.

Logically, Dipper knew the siren would see the pond sooner or later. Probably sooner. But like he had said before, he was exhausted, and Bill looked about the same as him as Dipper left. The pirate figured he had successfully postponed the issue to at least tomorrow. The last thing he wanted to deal with tonight was outrage from Bill and the gut-wrenching guilt he just _knew_ he’d feel during _that_ impending fight, but he’d have to do it one day. Probably tomorrow morning if Bill woke up before him.

_If you’re lucky, maybe this one won’t end with both you almost killing each other even._

_La-la-la-la-la! Can’t hear you!_

Rapidly enough, his eyes fell shut on their own, and he dreamed.

He almost didn’t notice. Actually, he never really noticed. Who noticed they had dreams? But this time he did. For some reason. Weird.

He didn’t detect any change because whatever dream he was dreaming looked exactly like the camp he had just fell asleep in. Except where he had previously been laying down, this time he was standing up, and his ankle didn’t hurt. Behind him, the pond and the camp. In front of him, Bill’s box, and the siren facing away from him, back resting against the edge of the box and looking as healthy as the first time they had met.

A tremor went up his spine at the recollection, but he managed to quell it, lest the dream turn into a nightmare.

He didn’t know where he got _that_ idea from, the leap in logic foreign to him, but it made sense to him somehow.

All of a sudden, a burst of noise erupted from behind him. A crowd. Much bigger than just 14 people. He spun around, and stared in shock as practically a whole _town_ strolled around the campsite, chattering and laughing as if they were in the market instead of stranded on a desolate _island._

He could recognize the crew among other less familiar faces. Wendy and Grunkle Stan, Lee and Nate, even Mabel and the rest of the crew and then some. And _ugh… Gideon._ What was _that_ prick doing here? At least he seemed to be hanging back, on the edge of the crowd and kept silent.

Good.

Honestly, that scoundrel’s presence really left him unsettled. _Just a dream,_ he reminded himself. It didn’t feel off to _know_ he was dreaming, and he didn’t think to question it. Everything just felt as if it was… _supposed_ to be.

Except Gideon.

He hated Gideon.

He thought of maybe stalking up to the albino and confronting him, picking a fight inside his own mind, but ultimately decided against it. It didn’t feel like that was what was supposed to happen.

Instead, sounds of metal tapping against metal drowned out the crowd, and only belatedly did Dipper notice they were on beat. The crowd parted and suddenly Soos rose up above as a column of solid rock elevated him and rows of drums. Fire torches stuck in the ground illuminated him and the drums, which were being struck to the rhythm by invisible musicians of some sort.

 _Yeah, this is normal,_ Dipper thought.

So there he stood, perfectly still and nonplussed at the scenario taking hold in front of him.

Soos held his arms up in the air, and started bobbing his head like he was so prone to do all the time. Indeed, the man would often times start singing and making other rhythmic noises under his breath, but after years of knowing each other Dipper just chalked it up to Soos being Soos. This time proved to be no exception, as he could only stare, and not once did he think that this was just completely and utterly _nonsensical._

“Oooooooohuuu yeaaaaaah... zea zou jhonn… macarron… yeah... macarron nooon,” was what came out Soos’s mouth.

Again, Dipper felt as if this was completely ordinary.

The sound of water splashing tore his eyes away from the scene before him, even over the sound of the drums, and Dipper turned around. He had briefly forgotten that Bill was there, too distracted by the crowd and then Soos, but apparently his dream wanted Dipper to look at what was behind him.

The siren still had his back to him, arms crossed but back straight. It’s tail was lazily flopping up and down from where it rested over the edge and outside the box. It batted to the beat of the song, Dipper realized, and only a faint sense of alarm rang at the back of Dipper’s head. He vaguely recalled the last time Bill had been exposed to a party, and didn’t remember it being fun for the siren. So, he slowly lifted up his arm, aiming to grab Bill by the shoulder to check if he was holding up okay.

Soos kept on “singing”:

_Chacarron, chacarron, chacarron, chacarron_

A pause in the music, and Dipper turned Bill around.

Bill, tongue out, flipping it up and down as if he was a snake. And it was on beat too.

Dipper recoiled.

_Ualuealuealueale ualuelaelaellalea, alsualsualualauusualulus, alsualsualualauusualulus_

_This,_ Dipper decided, _is not normal._

The siren’s eyes were, for the lack of a better term, gi-fucking-gantic. Too big and too round for his face, to the point where the deformation almost looked comical. His pupils were blown, only a thin ring of the shimmering blue and gold irises left, and they were shimmering in the fire light, both just slightly off center from each other, effectively leaving Bill looking like an actual dumb as fuck fish.

Dipper took a step back, or rather many, and brought his palms up as if trying to keep the siren away even though it was still stuck in the box. As far a dreams went, it came the closest to being a nightmare without actually being one, Dipper mused. It wasn’t disgust, or surprise even, that he felt; more like intense confusion. If “what the fuck” was an emotion, that would’ve been what held be feeling right about then.

He didn’t notice the slight change in atmosphere, too concentrated in staring at the clearly _wrong_ Bill, face contorting in a mix of bewilderment, repulsion and fear.

He did catch a glint of gold on his right though, and turned to find a Bill, this one normal looking, sporting an expression that he guessed about matched his own.

“Um…” He didn’t know how to explain _._

Normal Bill’s gaze shifted back and forth between the… _other…_ Bill, Dipper, Soos behind him who was _still_ singing, and then back again to the other Bill. Both his arms hung loosely at the siren’s side, his disbelieving expression slowly morphing into one of horror as the seconds ticked by, silent. Dipper looked him up and down, tilting his head to the side in puzzlement as normal-looking Bill seemed to float in the air, tail curving behind him as it would if the siren were in open water.

Other Bill didn’t move, still flicking his tongue and looking, for all intents and purposes, dead inside. Normal Bill brought his hands up in front of him, palms up to the sky, and slowly riveted his eyes to stare at them, hanging his head.

“Maybe Shooting Star’ll help me instead…” he mused, at a loss for any other words.

Suddenly, something seemed to break. As Normal Bill turned around, the world around them fell away, dissolving into hues of grey and white. The people disappeared, the music slowly quieted and stopped, and their surroundings seemed to rearrange themselves into what Dipper recognized as the inside of the Mystery Shack. He had to shake off a strange sense of déjà vu as he sprinted towards Normal Bill.

He reached for him. “Wait, no! Bill!”

The siren spinned around before Dipper could grab him, effectively floating out of the pirate’s grasp with a horrified expression.

“No!” he yelled, voice cracking a bit at the end and Dipper would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been concerned, a bit panicky, and slightly unbalanced by the previous dream. This one was much better and he preferred it. The last thing he wanted was for Normal Bill to go away.

“No!” the siren repeated, bringing his arms up in front of him, yet not looking as if he knew whether to defend himself or push Dipper away. “ _Calypso_ no! What the _fuck,_ Pine Tree?! Actually, no. Just. No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” He shook his head, eyes wide, hands swiping in an inside to outside gesture. “That’s a whole new other class of weird shit, Pine Tree, and I’ve already seen plenty of weird shit from you. Even stuff involving _me._ But this is _too_ far! Con _grat_ ulations, kid, you just successfully creeped me out! Frikkin’ _Poseidon..._ ”

“I can help you!” Dipper pleaded, grabbing onto Bill by the shoulders as the siren started to turn away once again.

Bill simply looked at him as if he was insane.

“You’re insane,” he did indeed say.

Somehow, Dipper took offense to that. The siren had a point sure, but at least he could be _polite_ about it. He slapped Bill on the shoulder in punishment and pouted.

“No, seriously,” the siren continued. “I come in, here to ask for help, and see _that.”_ He extended an arm out, shaking his pointing finger at the scene behind Dipper that dissolved long ago. “And just _no._ Your sister is _clearly_ the better option right now.”

…Maybe she was. But Dipper was lucid-dreaming right now, if he was even dreaming anymore that is. This Bill just seemed too genuine, too real and too… _normal?_ to be just a dream. Even Dipper couldn’t make up someone as unpredictable as the real Bill. Question was: how were they speaking to each other inside a grey-scale Mystery Shack while Dipper slept?

“No, Bill! Come on, man! I’m sorry! I don’t know _what_ that was!” He tried to plead his case, because that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He had spent all of the previous day agonizing under his guilt, hoping and waiting for Bill to ask something of him, to earn his forgiveness. And this what it. The siren wanted help, and had gone to Dipper for it. As much as he loved Mabel, Dipper couldn’t let his sister take this away from him right now.

“Look,” he kept saying. “Whatever you need, in the realm of my ability.” He wasn’t so careless as to say _‘I’d do anything’_ to someone like _Bill,_ but it felt as if he would nonetheless. The siren didn’t need to know that, though.

His words seemed to get the desired effect, luckily enough, since Bill stopped trying to wriggle out of Dipper’s grip and rose an eyebrow instead.

“Whatever I need, huh?” he asked.

Dipper nodded, serious and meaning it. “In the realm of my ability.”

His answer appeared to be the right one apparently, and Bill’s eyes lit up in delight for a few seconds. It didn’t last though, as Dipper gave a small smile back, the siren’s brows furrowed, face twisting in something between a grimace and a sneer, shoulders curving inwards and muscles tensing.

He snarled, a low reptilian sound that sent chills down Dipper’s spine, and he brought his palms up to the pirate’s chest, suddenly shoving him away and making him trip over nothing.

“And what _is_ in the realm of your ability, huh, _pirate?”_ he spat, practically looming over where Dipper had fallen over. The boy tried to scramble back, eyes wide, as Bill’s scales and hair turned to crimson red, his eyes black and his skin white as paper. “Because you didn’t seem _able_ to be honest with me, did you? You wanted forgiveness, you wanted to _help,_ but you didn’t do _anything! DID YOU EVEN TRY?!_ ”

_Oh no…_

“You know I can’t…” Dipper tried.

“ _CAN’T YOU?!”_ Bill yelled. He picked him up by the front if his shirt and shook him, rage in his eyes. “A dirty liar, that’s what you are! Help me? _Forgive_ you? You think _caressing_ and _food_ is gonna do it?! You thought I’d be _grateful_ for the freshwater? _Grateful_ I didn’t _die? Grateful_ you didn’t _let_ me die?! Is _that_ it?!”

“NO!” _How could he think that...?_ “Of course not!”

Dipper felt cold horror curl up his stomach at the hint of tears in the siren’s eyes. The guilt was there, clogging his throat and burning his gut, but this was worse. _Way_ worse. Bill wasn’t just blaming him, Bill wasn’t just angry, he was _hurt._ Dipper — _the guy who thinks of every single possibility,_ he thought sarcastically — had _not_ expected this. Someway, somehow, Bill had _clearly_ arrived to the conclusion that Dipper expected his actions to be enough.

 _Of course I didn’t expect you to be grateful, you stupid ass!_ he wanted to say, but the siren cut him off.

“You pushed me out the box,” Bill cried. “I was _laying_ in the mud, and I _must’ve_ been carried to the pond. I was outside. I was _out._ ” He dropped Dipper onto the ground and slumped against his chest, arms limp at his side, as the pirate caught back his balance. “ _And you didn’t do anything…”_ His scales and skin turned back to their normal color. “ _Not… A thing…”_

“Bill?” Dipper stumbled a bit at the increased weight against him, and brought his hands up to support Bill by the waist.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough._

“And you didn’t tell me,” the siren continued, ignoring Dipper’s prompting. “You didn’t want me to know. How long did you think you could _lie to me,_ Pine Tree? Huh? A day? Two days? How stupid can you get… _?_ ” he muttered.

“I’m sorry!” Dipper tried to shake him, but the siren wouldn’t budge. If anything, he sank even deeper against the pirate. “Bill, look at me.” He grabbed the siren by the face, each palm on each cheek, and tilted his head up, looking him right in the eyes. “I _tried._ I swear I did.”

Bill sneered and tore himself away. “Well it wasn’t goddamn _enough,_ was it?”

“I very well can’t go against my Captain’s wishes!” Dipper yelled, frustrated and trying to get his point across, to no avail.

He really couldn’t. Every time he had said it, he meant it. Freeing Bill against Grunkle Stan’s clear and direct orders was amount to mutiny. And being accused of mutiny meant the crew turning on him. On a desolated island with nowhere to flee or go, it was amount to either suicide or a life of hermitish exile.

 _Except Grunkle Stan isn’t exactly_ opposed _to the idea…_

Memories of that morning flooded Dipper’s thought process, and suddenly he was dreaming again. Or rather, the world around both him and Bill shifted and cleared to last morning’s scene, and there they were. Grunkle Stan and him, replaying the same conversation they had had.

“ _...dump the siren in the pond and be done with it, aye? But there’s a risk of mutiny here, laddie. And it might just be splittin’...”_

The siren frowned even deeper as he watched, hands curling into fists at his sides, face flushing, and shoulders tensing, before finally exploding.

“ _THEN WHAT’S THE GODDAMN PROBLEM?!”_ he screamed, turning back to Dipper. “You say you can’t do it because of your _Captain…”_ He said the word like it was made of slime. “But you’re _Captain_ is FINE with it!” He threw his hands up in the air at that, then dropped them to clutch at his hair. “So what’s keeping you? Why don’t you want to do it?”

“Uh…”

Too much. Between the world transforming in the bat of an eyelash, getting a glimpse of the past again — or rather past memory — and trying to diffuse the _situation_ with Bill; getting a hold of both their emotions of confusion and hurt and trying to reign them in while dealing with the _clear_ misunderstanding going on… If Dipper’s brain had been a heart, it would’ve stopped beating.

Their surroundings returned to the monochrome insides of the Mystery Shack.

Bill kept on rambling, unaware.

“You don’t trust me? Is that it? You _still_ think I’m out to kill you? _You think I’m just a mindless beast out for blood?!_ Did saving you mean nothing?! I almost _died,_ trying to protect you and your sister! I almost _died_ about _twenty-fucking-times_ because of you! And… And..”

Okay.

One step at a time.

Bill first. Strange transforming world second.

“Bill.” He lunged for the siren, grasping both his arms and the sudden action made the blonde’s head snap up. He stared at the pirate, mouth closing in a quiet _click_ at Dipper’s tone, breaths coming out in puffs. “I’ll do it,” he said.

Bill frowned, face still flushed, but seemingly calming down. “Excuse me?”

“The pond. _You._ I’ll do it.”

Bill squinted at him suspiciously.

“Oh, come _on!”_ Dipper rolled his eyes. “ _Now_ you’re going to complain?”

Bill’s expression didn’t change.

“And your Captain?” he asked instead.

“He said he’d do it himself if he could. You saw.”

“And the reason why he _didn’t?”_

“It’s six men against seven,” _if Soos and Wendy are amenable, but they should be,_ “and we’ve got Mabel on our side.” He smiled.

The siren just squinted harder. “So you _do_ trust me.”

“And do you trust me? You save my life, I save yours?” He repeated what his sister had once said to Bill, just a few days earlier but it felt like a lifetime ago. Bill didn’t look as if he remembered though, so Dipper’s little attempt to diffuse the situation fell flat.

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because you’re right,” Dipper responded, serious, and not missing a beat. “There is no problem. There’s no reason why I want you in that box, and nothing stopping me from freeing you. And I want your forgiveness.” Gently, he let go of Bill’s shoulders, and stuck his hand out. “Deal?”

Bill considered it, fists slowly unclenching as the blood drained from his face, calming down and no doubt relaxing a bit now that Dipper had presented him with familiar territory. It was shocking, now that Dipper thought about it, because never had he seen the siren _that_ emotional but for one exception. Outgoing? Sure. Expressive? Definitely. But Bill had cried only once, and that was two days ago when he had gone back to deep and dark places inside his own mind.

Silently, Dipper hoped this particular outburst wasn’t a product of the same thing, but somehow he knew better. It left him pitying the siren.

Nevertheless, Bill’s laboured breathing evened out as the minutes passed and his whole body visibly untensed. One hand, rubbing at his eyes and he choked out a laugh, before he clasped Dipper’s hand with his own.

“Deal,” he whispered, and then more confidently. “Get me outta this shitbox and you’ll get it.”

For once in what felt like a long time, Dipper felt as if things we’re going to be alright.

Their handshake fell limp between the two of them, but neither let go. They stayed like this, the minutes going by, silent, before Dipper couldn’t help but speak up.

“So…” he started, fidgeting at the sudden awkwardness of all this. He ventured in a guess. “I’m sleeping right? How am I supposed to wake up?”

Bill smiled and squeezed.

“Like this,” was all he said before Dipper’s eyes popped open, and he was greeted with a view of the Milky Way.

▲▼▲

Five minutes later and Dipper was stumbling through the camp, thanking God that Deuce, who had been on nightwatch, fell asleep on the job.

He could feel the adrenaline rushing in his veins at the prospect of what he was about to do. Disobeying orders, rebellion, mutiny. Strangely, it didn’t bother him. A split-second thought flashed through his mind about the possibility of Bill having put him under a spell again, but he dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. The siren was desperate sure, and Dipper wasn’t all knowledgeable about the finer details of his powers — whether they worked in dreams or not — but it didn’t matter.

Dipper had wanted to.  To free Bill, earn forgiveness, make amends… ever since the day before really. And he knew he had support, however quiet it may be, from Grunkle Stan and Mabel. The Captain wouldn’t try to kill him, for he was his nephew and it wasn’t like they were disagreeing anyway, and the rest of the men could go fuck themselves honestly. Bunch of pricks they were…

He carefully stepped over a crate of rum lying on the edge of camp, his ankle pulsing in pain but he ignored it. In retrospect, maybe Mabel _would’ve_ been the better idea since at least she wasn’t the one with the injured leg, but it was too late now. Dipper could endure a little bit of pain. _Especially relatively to Bill_ , he thought depressingly.

He stuttered to a stop, however, only a few feet away from said siren, as he looked up and had the breath knocked out of him by the view he was greeted with. The siren was already awake, back against the glass panel and hands gripping the edge, golden skin an eerie white and shiny hair glowing in the soft moonlight. Bill peered up at him with crystalline blue eyes. In a way, Dipper had forgotten how blue they were, especially in the light, and how hard it was to look away from them.

A passage of his journal sprang to mind: _“The physical beauty also serves as a distraction, for if someone were aware of the danger a siren’s voice posed, no talking nor singing would work.”_

 _Well,_ he mused. _It sure works._

“So how are we doing this?” he asked instead, hoping the dark hid the blush on his cheeks.

The siren simply raised an eyebrow and smirked, and lifted his arm up as if inviting an embrace, grinning. At least he didn’t _seem_ mad, Dipper thought in relief. He didn’t even have puffy eyes or tear tracks marring his face that should’ve, for all intent and purposes, been there. If anything the siren was acting like his normal, relaxed and obnoxious self. If Bill hadn’t look so sure of himself, Dipper would’ve thought he had dreamed to whole thing up. Instead, the pirate’s eyes widened.

“Oh God no.”

Bill scoffed. “How did you _think_ this was gonna go? I’m not gonna _roll_ all the way there.”

Alright, he had a point. Still, Dipper joked: “It _might_ be faster, though,” he chuckled.

Bill tilted in head, confused, before glancing down to Dipper’s ankle, frowning in consideration. “It still hurts?” His voice was small, almost concerned if Dipper hadn’t known the siren better.

“It’s healing,” he reassured, and took a step forward. He knelt down, threading his arms around Bill, one under the siren’s armpits, the other awkwardly sliding under his tail and trying to find a solid grip. “Don’t worry about it.” He huffed, bracing himself, and lifted.

His leg _screamed._ White hot pain blooming from his ankle and making his head swim. Biting back a yell into something between a wheeze and a groan, he quickly shifted his weight onto his left foot, at the expense of having Bill almost slide out of his arms.

“Oi! Watch it!”

“Why are you so _slimey?!”_

“Snrk.” A snore.

Both froze, mouths snapping shut and swallowing audibly at the sound. It hadn’t come from either of them.

Slowly, they turned their heads to look behind them, hearts beating fast. Carefully, Dipper adjusted his grip on Bill, and the siren threw his arms around the pirate’s neck, and both breathed out in relief. Deuce hadn’t woken up. They weren’t about to get caught. Still, they both made a mental note to stay as silent as possible from now on.

Slowly, Dipper pivoted around, breathing hard already because _damn_ since when was Bill so freakin’ _heavy?_ He tried to stay off his right foot as much as possible, but with the siren in his arm he couldn’t afford to just jump his way to the pond. Still, he somehow managed to limit the pressure on his injured leg.

He limped his way around the camp, not taking the risk of going _through_ the camp and accidentally tripping on something lying around. They weren’t going fast, but mercifully they still had quite some time before the sun was up, and Bill didn’t complain.

In fact, Bill was being oddly silent. Dipper had to take a few breaks, panting heavily and balancing on his left leg, and every so often had to readjust his grip because Bill kept on _slipping the goddamn asshole._ And not once had the siren spoken up about it. At first, the pirate was silently thankful for it, but now that they had settled into a rhythm and things, quite honestly, were getting boring, it left him… unsettled.

He glanced down, and felt dread suddenly wash over him at the sight. Bill’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his eyes wide and breathing too regular for it to be natural in their situation right now. His skin, as hard as it was to tell in the moonlight, was as pale as a sheet, and Dipper’s confusion soon shifted into concern and frustration at himself for not thinking about it sooner.

“Are you dying out?!” he whispered frantically. They were just passing by Grunkle Stan’s tent, and the last thing either of them wanted was to wake the Captain up.

Bill shook his head no, but his expression didn’t change. “Moon’s fine, kid. Just feels a bit cold.”

“Then what’s wrong?” If it wasn’t because he wasn’t in the water…

“Nothing’s wrong! _You’re_ wrong!”

Dipper stopped. Bill didn’t have to know it wasn’t because he needed a break.

“Something is _obviously_ wrong,” he countered. “You sound like _Mabel._ Something is wrong.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” the siren whispered harshly, but at least had the presence of mind to keep a low volume. “I was supposed to be in the pond twenty minutes ago! _That’s_ what’s wrong!”

“Bill, I swear…”

“Fucking… _Fine._ It feels weird to have you touch me. Do you _blame_ me?”

_Oh._

Dipper swallowed, embarrassed, because yeah, he couldn’t blame Bill. He started limping towards the pond again — they were nearly more than half-way there now — leaving the question unanckowledged as he felt guilt rise in him again. He _had_ hurt Bill, but the siren had seemed fine that morning when Dipper was taking care of him… His guilt quickly turned to ponderation.

“So how’d you talk to me in my dreams anyway?” he asked, to distract Bill from whatever was bothering him, and also himself from the pain intermittently flaring up his leg.

The siren just made a noise of disbelief. “Seriously, Pine Tree? We’re going to do small talk now?”

Dipper refused to budge. “It’s important,” was all he answered.

“I… okay, fine,” Bill sighed. “I, _sometimes_ — it’s important you know I don’t do it _all_ the time — can access your dreams when you sleep. Nothing too invasive, I _assure_ you.” He rolled his eyes, but promptly squawked and scrambled to grip at the pirate’s back when Dipper almost dropped him in shock.

" _Excuse me?!”_

“Didn’t you listen? I _told_ you I didn’t do it all the time!”

Dipper stopped, again, at a loss for words because _really._ Was this guy for real?

“I… That’s not...” He spluttered, searching for words. “ _That’s not important!_ Since when could you do that?”

Bill just stared meaningfully at the last bit of ground between them and the pond, and Dipper huffed, limping the last few feet to the edge of the bank. It seemed to be enough to satisfy Bill though, and the siren answered.

“Could do it from as far as I remember, really. And before you ask, _no,_ it’s not something every siren can do. Just me.” He shrugged and smiled. “I’m extra special like that.”

Dipper eyed him skeptically. “And is this the first time you’ve done this? To me or the crew I mean.”

Bill stayed silent.

“ _Bill!”_

The siren gave him a small smile, sheepish, and laughed nervously. “Not the crew.”

Dipper stared at him, understanding dawning over him and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he spoke. “Just me?” he managed to choke out.

Instead of answering, Bill simply started twisting in Dipper’s arms, decidedly uncomfortable and restless as he eyed to the water right below them enviously. He twisted more, practically trying to flip over albeit Dipper’s grip on him, but the pirate refused to let him go just yet. After a few more tries, the siren settled down, and glared at him.

“Bill,” Dipper said, serious, before deflating. “I… No. I don’t want to deal with this right now.” _Especially_ not with how much this little exercise of theirs wore him out. “Just… You _are_ going to explain yourself tomorrow, though,” he told him, giving him a meaningful look.

The siren squirmed.

“Okay, okay!” Bill made a gesture of exasperation before putting both his palms on the pirate’s chest, ready to push. “Just throw me in the water already!” he whispered.

Dipper acquiesced, dropping to his knees that left him hissing at the impact, and the siren promptly rolled over and splashed into the water. Right before Bill could swim down under though, he lunged out, grabbing the siren by the wrist, and held him there.

Bill laughed, in happiness Dipper hoped, elated and savouring the feel of long forgotten freshwater as well as freedom, too distracted to keep his voice down or notice the pirate's hand encircled around his wrist. He pulled as he tried to dive in though, and began to struggle when he realized what Dipper was doing, but eventually gave up, hissing at him.

“What in the actual _fuck,_ Pine Tree?!”

_Oh, you made him angry._

Dipper ignored the voice, which _definitely_ sounded like Mabel this time, and stared at the siren right in the white of his eyes. Bill stilled, catching onto the serious mood, and squinted at him. Dipper took it as a sign he was paying attention.

“Don’t leave,” he said.

The siren scoffed. “Where do I have to _go?”_ he asked sardonically.

And with that Dipper let Bill go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19 PAGES. THIS CHAPTER IS *19 PAGES*. I AIN'T EDITING THAT SHIT BEFORE BED ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!


	13. Serenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty so! Been a long time since I put a song in the fic so here's one for the end of the chap! [Strange and Beautiful by Aqualung](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16AWcaERD6I)

Bill didn’t come back for three days.

Yet Dipper had told him not to go anywhere, and Bill himself had acknowledged the fact that there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. Still, day after day, Dipper’s worry only grew, worry for himself sure, but also for the siren, and add to that the stress the siren’s disappearance caused throughout the camp... Least to say, he wasn’t feeling so well.

The moment Bill had plunged underwater, Dipper had gone back to his cot and feigned sleep until morning rose. He had nearly lost his nerve twice in that amount of time, worried about being found out, worried about Bill somehow betraying him, worried about his life and what his family would think of him were he to be found out, what if there _was_ a passageway to the ocean in that pond, but that was impossible because the water was fresh, right?

He had been so lost in thought, panicking then reassuring himself over and over, that he jumped when he heard one of the crewmen scream.

And it wasn’t a very manly scream.

Dipper would have laughed in any other circumstance — he even glimpsed Mabel guffawing out of the corner of his eye — but he recognized Davey, and what that scream probably meant.

“ _THE PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!”_ The shout rang throughout the camp, and Dipper watched as everybody froze. Mabel choked on a giggle, everyone in the crew’s eyes widened, and Dipper himself stopped breathing, fear gripping his throat.

_Oh, what had he done…_

Two seconds of shock was what they allowed themselves before the crew fell into a panic. Half the sailors immediately went for their weapons, the other yelling as they ran to the now empty box. The Captain sprung up, double-checking that the box _was_ in fact empty, before pivoting on his foot and staring at the pond. Then, his eyes fell on Dipper, who still hadn’t moved an inch.

Dipper felt his heart skip a beat, several actually, and heard the rush of blood in his ears as it drained from his face. He reasoned: Grunkle Stan didn’t think Bill was a threat. Grunkle Stan had explicitly said he would’ve dumped Bill in the pond himself. Grunkle Stan _also_ said that he didn’t do so because then he’d have a mutiny on his hands.

The Captain wasn’t a dumb man, but most of the crew was. Grunkle Stan knew there was no difference between the box and the pond except for space, but the crew didn’t. And judging by how he was holding Dipper’s stare, Grunkle Stan _also_ knew that Dipper had freed the siren.

But the crew didn’t.

Subtly, almost unnoticeably if Dipper hadn’t been so high-strung, the Captain nodded. He glared, but he nodded. Dipper gulped, just a tiny bit of stress leaving him, but the looming threat of being discovered by the rest of the crew still kept the adrenaline pumping in his veins. The Captain turned back around, face setting back into a deep frown and an almost-snarl, and he barked orders at the men to calm the fuck down and keep their weapons close.

Dipper scrambled to his feet, complying, and proceeded to fake his way through the next three days.

For those three days, the camp was an active buzz of gossip and theories. The rumour mill was going at full speed, and Dipper could only watch from the sidelines as the men grew more and more restless. He watched as Grunkle Stan’s forehead kept on creasing, worried, but he didn’t dare approach him. Somehow, Mabel seemed to pick up on that, and she’d give him concerned glances from time to time. Alternately, Wendy and Soos tried as best they could to keep the crew in control, but they all knew it was only a matter of time...

“I heard Deuce saw someone carry the siren in the forest…”

“Don’t be stupid. Deuce’s a sluggard! He didn’t see shit.”

“Did too!”

“Shut up, Deuce!”

“I think the siren _dragged_ itself to the pond o’er there.”

“If it did, it woulda’ eaten us by now, wouldn’t it?”

“Well it didn’t roll all the way back to the sea!”

“Maybe it used some of that siren magic, aye?”

“That’s not how it works, stupid.”

“ _Somebody_ carried it back to the ocean.”

“And didn’t die?”

“Maybe the siren is going to try and get the rest of its pals back to us, eh?”

“We got a traitor in our midst, men. And you know what we do to traitors don’tcha?”

That last one was followed by a deep, rumbling laugh that made shivers crawl up Dipper’s spine. It took them about a day to come to that conclusion — that somehow someone had carried Bill all the way to the _ocean_ in _one_ night and back — and then it was every man for himself. Suspicions were shared and shifted back and forth, and Dipper stayed in high alert for any mention of his name. However, luck was apparently on his side since his ankle injury had him crossed out of the “suspect” list.

Nate and Lee first thought that Ghost-Eyes had personally knocked Bill out and carried him to the woods, only then to brutally murder him and bury his body somewhere. That particular story had almost made Mabel cry, and Dipper had to reassure her _somehow_ that it wasn’t the case. He claimed that Bill wouldn’t have let himself go down so easily, and that Ghost-Eyes would’ve boasted about killing the siren instead of spreading rumours of a traitor. It pained him to feign ignorance to Mabel of all people, but he reasoned that the more people knew, the more danger he’d be putting himself in.

Then the stories shifted back and forth from the almost-believable to the just plain gruesome. The blame was shifted onto Bratsman for a time; ranging from him getting payed by the sirens to free Bill, to him having killed and taken all of the siren’s golden scales for himself. Then someone, Dipper didn’t remember who, suggested that maybe Earl had eaten the siren before everybody in the camp immediately shut that idea down, too grossed out to even contemplate it. Earl also complained about being hungry so that pretty much convinced everybody.

Creepy compass guy was next, as his muttering only got more vocal and he didn’t even try to defend himself when somebody directly accused him of freeing the siren in a delusional episode. Bratsman, Earl and Davey were adamant in their belief of that particular theory, and Dipper felt somewhat bad at feeling glad about that.

Going as is, he’d never be found out, and the “ _PEOPLE WHO DON’T LIKE BILL”_ camp would tear themselves apart from the inside out.

That’s when Mabel, Soos and Wendy joined the gossip circle though, and then things started to make a bit more sense.

Wendy suspected Tats of getting rid of the siren as a means to start a mutiny and establish himself as Captain. Soos thought Deuce took advantage of his job as night watchman to free Bill (for what reason, he couldn’t fathom a guess). And finally Mabel tortured herself with the horror story that Davey was keeping Bill attached somewhere as to have his devious way with him.

Dipper made sure to put a stop to that last one before it went too far.

The “PEOPLE I THINK I CAN TRUST” list wasn’t spared from the rumours either. As much as Wendy suspected Tats, Tats suspected Wendy of the same thing. Soos was considered strong enough to carry the siren, but was written off as too loyal to Grunkle Stan to actually do it fortunately. Grunkle Stan himself wasn’t even spared, even though no logical reason could be given for him freeing Bill.

Nate and Lee, what with them having hunted and guarded a deer for Bill the previous day, were _clearly_ being targeted by Tats and Deuce, and they returned the favour right back, teaming up with Wendy and Soos.

That left the twins.

Mabel had been the first to defend Bill, loudly and publicly, when she had yelled to the Captain about keeping Bill out of his bonds. She wasn’t injured, having recovered from her concussion _days_ ago, and the crew knew she could hold her own in a fight. Plus, she was a _woman._ Old superstitions about female sailors being bad luck creeped out where neither Wendy or Mabel could hear them. They didn’t even seem to reach Soos’ or Grunkle Stan’s ears, and they probably weren’t meant to reach Dipper’s either. But they did, and it left him fuming.

He could try to defend her at the risk of being thought an accomplice, and he did. But luckily — or unluckily depending on how you viewed it — he was either written off as just the loyal brother, or the men would apologize, turn their backs, and start whispering about it again. It didn’t amount to anything, and Dipper’s hand twitched towards his sword each day that passed.

He wasn’t the only one, either. Tension was mounting within the camp — which Dipper was sure Bill would’ve laughed at, the jerk he was — and it left everyone a hair-trigger mess. Soos’ face was perpetually twisted in worry, Wendy was practically _snarling_ at this point, and Grunkle Stan would’ve been tearing his hair out if he’d allowed himself a split-second of weakness. The rest of the crew’s eyes gleamed like wolves’, looking for one show of weakness — traitor or not — to unsheathed their cutllasses, and eventually, they fell on Dipper.

He _had_ been surprised they weren’t throwing accusations at him beginning day one. He was the one who had spent the most time with Bill, the one who had tried to protect the siren, the one that had had a paranoia attack over him, and the one who had very loudly and very publicly yelled about the cruelty of leaving Bill in his box not _four_ days ago.

Like he had said before, the crew really _really_ wasn’t smart.

It was Earl, actually, that started to put the pieces together. The limp that kept Dipper safe for three days began to make him the best possible traitor of them all. No one had suspected him for _three entire_ days, and for those three days he had made himself small. Earl had once been an experienced pirate Captain himself, and Dipper should’ve known better than to think he had been de-throned by any other means than mutiny.

The way he had been avoiding Grunkle Stan, the nervous demeanor, the exaggerated limp (he wanted to make sure they remembered he was injured), the not coming up with theories as to who was the traitor, him apparently knowing what _didn’t_ happen even though he couldn’t _possibly_ know, and the worried glances he often gave the pond even though everyone agreed the siren was back in the _ocean_ and not the pond thirty feet away…

Lee had been the one to report all this to him, and Dipper mentally beat his head against a wall. Externally, he just laughed, denying everything, but internally he berated himself for his suspicious acting. He had thought he’d been acting completely normal, or as normal as what was expected in their situation. Putting everything like that though... He looked like a mutinous sailor. The evidence was mounting and it wasn’t good.

What was worse was that he hadn’t heard any of this himself. Either the men were being _really_ good at keeping things quiet, or Dipper had let himself get a bit too comfortable.

If Lee had heard it, then Nate had heard it. If Nate had heard it, then Wendy heard it. And if Wendy had heard it, then Mabel had heard it and so on and so forth. By the time noon rolled around, the rumours had swept throughout the camp and undoubtedly reached the Captain’s ears.

To be fair, Dipper thought, Earl did make a compelling case. Before long, he had the rest of crew on his side, even going as far as making a truce with creepy compass guy to instead direct everyone’s suspicions on Dipper.

It worked. Two hours later, he watched as Tats, Earl and Bratsman marched towards the Captain, heads held high. From where Dipper was sitting, on the ground and re-bandaging his injured ankle, he contemplated picking up his sword and cane and just flee into the woods. It would spare Grunkle Stan a mutiny, and a possible execution for himself.

Just as he was picking himself up though, he found himself caged between Ghost-Eyes and Deuce.

“Going somewhere, kid?” Ghost-Eyes growled, and Dipper promptly sat back down.

He laughed nervously. “Oh you know. Just stretching my legs is all.” Subtly, he tightened his grip on the cutlass hanging from his belt. An alarm at the back of his head rang loudly at having the most violent man in the group so close, and his muscles tensed in anticipation of a fight.

He glanced momentarily at Deuce, but the man was just standing there dumbly, arms at his sides. He didn’t look like much of a threat — at least relatively to Ghost-Eyes — but he wasn’t budging either and Dipper felt cornered.

His grip on the pommel of his sword tightened just as he smiled. “You’re kind of in my way, man. I wanted to go see Mabel. Give a guy some space, would ya?” he asked, trying to sound completely guiltless.

Both men’s eyes narrowed and they stepped even closer, making Dipper gulp and step back. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, they are way to close…_ God, he wished he had his pistol right about now.

He broke into a sweat. “Woah.” He brought one palm up in a placating gesture, the other still firmly around the handle of his cutlass and even already drawing it from its sheath. “Seriously, mates. I just want to see my sister! What is your problem?”

_Act innocent. Act like you did nothing wrong and eventually they’ll believe you…_

“We got orders from up high, laddie,” Ghost-Eyes grunted. “We’re to make sure ya don’t try and scamper off with yer sodomite of a monster.”

Dipper frowned. “My what now?”

“Sodomite means pederast,” Deuce chipped in. “You know… uh… when a man… well…”

Dipper rolled his eyes at the both of them. “I know that.” He did. It almost made him go into a blind panic. Bill? Sodomite? _Him?_ Fuzzy drunken memories of a week ago flashed through his mind: Mabel laughing, teasing him, and pushing him towards the siren… He shook his head. He could go into a nervous breakdown about that later.

That and the way Ghost-Eyes had said the word…. Somehow Dipper knew he should keep his mouth shut but something within him _really_ wanted to make a comeback. It wasn’t often he thought of them at the right time and not two hours later, okay? “What’s puzzling here is that you two actually know what those words _mean_.”

Alright, so Bill _might’ve_ rubbed off on him. Just a bit.

Ghost-Eyes growled and Dipper took several steps back, his foot catching on the cane still lying on the ground as he almost fell over. It was too late, though. One second of distraction and suddenly there was a fist caught in his shirt and Ghost-Eyes’ face not two inches from his own. He couldn’t help it, he grimaced at the smell of the man’s breath, and that only seemed to make the pirate madder.

“Lookit here, kid,” he snarled as he shook Dipper by the front of his shirt. “Spill or I’ll kill you!”

_Act innocent, act innocent, act innocent…_

“Spill wha-a-at?” He let go of his sword to grip the hand shaking him, trying to pry the sailor’s fingers apart and force the man to release him, but Ghost-Eyes was strong. Dipper already felt dizzy at having his head knocked back and forth, and when the hands didn’t work he tried kicking him, but he still didn’t budge.

Suddenly there was nothing holding him up anymore and instead his back was colliding with the ground. He let out an ‘oof!’ before he groaned and tried to scramble back, away from the men trapping him, but then there was a foot on his ankle — the injured one — and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming. He whimpered instead.

“Don’t play stupid with me, laddie!” Ghost-Eyes yelled, attracting the attention of the rest of the crew hopefully. “ _You_ set the monster loose! You let yourself be seduced by that whore and killed us all!” He added more weight on Dipper’s ankle and the boy hissed, feeling tears springing at the corner of his eyes.

Dipper spat at him.

A sudden bellow drowned out the man’s yell of outrage and Dipper whipped his neck around towards the source of the voice.

Grunkle Stan was marching towards them, murder in his eyes, while being trailed by both seconds-in-command, Wendy and Soos, and the trio that had gone to see him, Earl, Tats and Bratsman.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY NEPHEW RICHARDSON, OR YOU’LL HAVE HELL TO PAY!” he yelled, and Dipper breathed a sigh of relief when the pressure on his leg released.

Luck didn’t seem to be on his side however, since two seconds later he had an arm around his neck and a bruising grip on his around his elbow.

“Well, _Captain_ , it would seem yer oh so precious nephew got ‘imself into quite some trouble, aye?” Ghost-Eyes laughed, sending Dipper into a cold sweat. Both his hands came up once again to grip at the arm holding him still, but as much as he tried to wriggle out of the man’s grasp, the hold only tightened.

“Let. Me. GO!” He kicked Ghost-Eyes’ tibia with the back of his heel, but while it did make the man flinch, his grip didn’t loosen.

The click of a gun, though, echoed throughout the camp and everyone stilled, silent.

Dipper froze, gaze slowly sliding to his right, and he stared where Mabel had her gun firmly pointed towards him, aiming down the sights and stance firmly grounded.

Her voice was like ice. “Let my brother go, Ghost-Eyes.”

The man in question just cackled, a low rumble coming from deep within his chest.

“I’m not taking orders from a _girl_ , girl,” he scoffed, and boy was that a bad idea.

Immediately, Wendy had her hatchet in her hand, which prompted Tats to unsheathe his sabre, and one by one everyone in the crew had their weapon at the ready. No one spoke, but everyone was pointing either a gun or a sword to somebody else, the only exception being Dipper who didn't want to risk pulling out his sword and getting strangled by Ghost-Eyes before he could do anything. Still, he had to defend himself  _somehow._

Grudgingly, Grunkle Stan tried to diffuse the situation. “Everybody put your weapons down or so help me God I’ll make a stewpot out of ye!”

At the non-reaction of the rest of the crew, Dipper slowly stopped trying to wriggle free, and unnoticeably put his hand over the pommel of his cutlass again. Mabel, who hadn’t once glanced away from the pair, silently nodded and tensed, ready to pull the trigger.

Grunkle Stan, who had one pistol trained on Tats and another sabre pointed towards Earl, sighed angrily at the same non-reaction. His frown deepened as he glared back at Ghost-Eyes, his hold on both weapons tightening before he spoke.

“Mind telling me why all this ruckus, Mr. Richardson?” he gritted out.

Ghost-Eyes just snarled. “Your nephew is the one who released the siren!”

“Ah yes.” The Captain rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Mr. Chapman here,” he pointed towards Earl with a shake of his head, “was just telling me all about it actually, before this little spectacle of yours. No offense if I don’t honestly believe you.”

This only served to make half the crew growl. Coincidentally, it was the half that was part of the “ _PEOPLE THAT DON’T LIKE BILL_ ” list. All at once, protests erupted from the mouths of those seven men.

“He’s been feeding the siren—!”

“He took care of it, looking after its health—!

“They spend hours upon hours talking!”

“He tried to protect it even when it was trying to kill him!”

“He disrespected you publicly for it, sir!”

“He’s been vying for its release for days!”

“He’s been faking his limp!”

That last one spurred another burst of protest but this one from the opposing side.

“ _WHAT?!_ How could he even?”

“He’s hurt for real, you dumbass! He couldn’t even have carried the siren to the sea.”

“The siren isn’t that heavy!”

“ _Excuse you?_ ” Both Nate and Lee seemed outraged at the claim. “We’ve been carrying that blasted box for days! He’s heavy, alright.”

“We’ve been too! You lie!”

“That’s because you just hold the box instead of actually lifting it! We’ve been doing all the work for you!”

The squabbling continued but Earl and his companions simply ignored it. Dipper mentally scoffed at the childishness of it all but then again, they were pirates out for their own gain. Instead, they opted to just continue on with yelling out all the evidence they had gathered.

“He acts like a traitor!”

“A traitor!”

“He’s a traitor!”

“ENOUGH!”

The crew fell silent at the Captain’s order.

The Captain himself was biting his lip, a frown still twisting his face but Dipper recognized the worried glint in his Grunkle’s eyes.

On one hand, if he acknowledged Dipper had freed the siren as he knew he had done, the punishment for that level of treason was not anything Grunkle Stan would want to inflict on his nephew.

On the other hand, if he stubbornly refused to believe Dipper had released Bill, then the crew would rebel.

Even for Dipper, it was a no-brainer.

“Alright,” was all he said.

Mabel faltered, and so did Wendy and Soos. All three glanced sideways to stare at the Captain, disbelief and an edge of panic painting their faces as Stan stared straight ahead towards Dipper.

“Did you or did you not free the siren, Dipper?” he asked, both tone and facial expression neutral, and now it was up to Dipper to make the decision.

Lie and say no, and that would only spark another round of protests, and maybe even some violent strangling from Ghost-Eyes. The crew wouldn’t budge until Dipper either confessed, or pleaded a convincing enough case to prove his innocence. If only he _was_ actually innocent, maybe that would’ve worked.

Tell the truth and say yes, and he was putting his life in the hands of his Grunkle. Only he could decide what to do with a mutineer after all: death or exile or even pardon.

Dipper took a deep breath and looked at his Grunkle in the eye.

“I trust you.”

 _“What?”_ Deuce, who was still standing not two feet from Dipper with his pistol pointed towards Mabel, interrupted. “What does that even _mean?!”_

Everyone else simply ignored him, focused instead on the Captain and his nephew, watching the exchange closely. Finally, the Captain grunted.

“Dipper Pines,” he began. “You have committed mutiny against the crew and Captain of the Mystery Shack.”

‘AHA!’s spread throughout the camp as Earl lifted up his sabre in victory and Ghost-Eyes cackled maniacally. The rest — Mabel, Wendy, Soos, Nate and Lee — stared wide-eyed between both Grunkle Stan and Dipper, faces ranging from white as a sheet, confusion and disbelief, to red with anger and betrayal.

The Captain continued on.

“You are hereby sentenced to semi-exile, keeping as far a distance from camp as possible and banned from talking to anyone in the crew, while restricted to the lowliest, stinkiest and most unpleasant tasks of manual labour until our return to the Mystery Shack from there which new punishments will be decided upon.”

Resignation and relief flooded Dipper’s mind as he let out the breath he had been holding. A shitty punishment, sure, but the best one he could’ve hoped for. He’d respect his Captain’s decision.

Unfortunately, the rest of the crew didn’t seem to think the same.

Two seconds after Dipper had let his shoulders droop in relief, the click of a pistol next to his ear and the pressure of the cold barrel to his temple left him tense and frozen once again. His eyes, previously shut, flew open as he gulped and stared, terrified, right back at the Captain. The latter pivoted on his feet, swinging the pistol he had on Tats towards Ghost-Eyes instead, and he snarled.

“ _What_ exactly do you think you’re doing, Richardson?”

Ghost-Eyes sniffed and nudged Dipper’s head with the pistol in his hand. “Yer mad if ye think we’ll abide by such an… _amicable_ punishment, Mr. Pines,” he growled. A chorus of ‘aye’s spurred across the crew. “I say we kill the traitor and feed him to the fishes he likes so much!” he yelled, and the other six men cheered.

Dipper froze at the words, hand flying to his sword and ready to swing before the arm around his neck tightened and he choked. He faintly heard Mabel cry out, and Grunkle Stan bellow, but it was Wendy’s piercing yell that pierced through the fog of _air, air, need air_ , and made the crew still once again.

“You defy your Captain’s orders, Ghost-Eyes?!” she spat.

Funnily enough, it was Tats that answered instead.

“The boy killed us! Delivered the creature right back to the sea, he did!” Again, a chorus of ‘aye’s rang through the camp. “The only way we’re gonna get off this godforsaken island now is feed him to the sirens and escape to the ship unnoticed!”

Soos shouted. “That’s mutiny, mate!”

One second, maybe two, of hesitation on the crewmen’s part before Ghost-Eyes chuckled, followed by Tats, Earl, Bratsman and the rest eventually. Tats spoke.

“I always wanted to be Captain anyways,” he laughed.

The pistol to Dipper’s temple nudged him even further, a whimper escaping from his lips, before the first shot rang out. Suddenly, he was dropping to the floor on his knees and scrambling towards safety, wherever that was. One glance over his shoulder showed him Ghost-Eyes on the ground, clutching his shoulder where a copious amount of red was flowing out.

Yells and battle cries suddenly drowned out every other thing Dipper could hear as the metal ' _clanks'_ of swords and the sounds of gunshots flooded throughout the clearing. Finally, he unsheathed his own cutlass as he got up on his feet, wincing when his ankle pulsed in pain, but still the adrenaline managed to drown the worse of it out.

“Dipper!”

His head whipped around towards Mabel. There was still smoke seeping out from the barrel of her gun from when she had shot the man threatening to kill her brother. Dipper watched as she disarmed Deuce and elbowed him in the throat, the pirate crumbling to the floor, before she turned around, took one look at his feet, and turned around yelling.

“Get Bill!”

And he did.

It was seven versus seven, with experienced fighters on both sides, but actually seven vs. six if you took into account how Dipper wasn’t able to fight; at least, not with his injury. He limped as fast as he could towards the pond. Bill could fight. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to go up on land and wave a sword around but with him on their side they could win.

Now if only the prick would show up.

He flinched when Wendy practically threw Bratsman Dipper’s way, the man hitting the ground face-first and eating dirt. Before she could finish him off though, Tats was already swinging his sabre and trying to slice her stomach. Fortunately, Bratsman himself seemed knocked out cold as Dipper poked him with the tip of his sword and got no reaction. As such he carefully tiptoed around the body, and tried to run to the siren’s pond.

He fell to his knees right on the edge of it, cutlass still in his right hand but the other disturbing the waters in hope of attracting Bill’s attention. Eyes frantic and flinching every time he heard a gunshot explode behind him, he was practically ready to just jump in and get the siren himself if the asshole was so hellbent on avoiding him. They needed him right now, for God’s sake!

“The siren is cursed. The Captain is keeping secrets. From his own family, from his own family. Doomed us all, doomed us all…”

Dipper whipped back around at the voice. Creepy compass guy was standing right behind him not ten feet away, sword pointed straight at him and shaky in the knees. His eyes were wide, his face pale, and with the sunlight Dipper could see the beads of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

He stood back up, holding his own cutlass in front of him defensively, and spaced his feet from each other. The pain in his leg was practically gone with how focused he was on the man in front of him. Said man kept on muttering over and over as he took one shaky step forward. Dipper widened his stance in response, and tensed his arm in anticipation of an attack.

“Doomed us all, doomed us all…”

Creepy compass guy looked like he had stopped breathing.

_”You doomed us all.”_

One moment the man was stock still, and the other he was jumping, sword held over his head for a swing downwards, hoping to catch Dipper in the neck. Dipper reflexively took a step back, bringing his sword up to parry the blow, but he felt himself immediately fall backwards, his foot landing on nothing. He flailed his arms, trying to re-catch his balance, before he felt something cold and wet grip his ankle and suddenly he was being pulled down into the water.

Creepy compass guy missed him by a hair, but still he missed him. Now Dipper was in the water, air flowing out of him in bubbles in surprise before he remembered to shut his mouth. The hand around his ankle disappeared to be replaced with two framing his cheeks as he was turned around.

He came face to face with Bill. A healthy-looking Bill. His skin was back to its smooth tan, and both his hair and tail a shimmering gold. His blue eyes weren’t bloodshot anymore, the bags under his eyes gone, and as Dipper raked his eyes over the siren’s body he noticed his injuries were gone too.

Emotions, primarily anger, filled him.

_Where were you? Why did you leave? Lucky asshole being all healed up and crap. Do you even know how much trouble you put me in?!_

He hoped Bill could also read minds in addition to being able to invade people’s dreams because if he could have he’d know how much Dipper wanted to hit him.

A shadow fell over them both and they looked up. Creepy compass guy’s silhouette stared down at them, slightly distorted because of the water, before retreating. He didn’t seem to think Dipper worthy of diving in.

Still, Dipper shook his head and put his anger on the back-burner. Instead, he gripped the siren by the arms, making his eyes snap back to him, and frantically tried to convey that he needed him to fight for him. Or something. At this point, Bill could sing and Dipper would thank him.

He was also running out of air, lungs starting to burn and throat to itch, and desperately tried to swim back up but Bill held him down. He shot the siren a panicked glance but Bill just grinned.

A tug forward, and suddenly there was lips covering his own, a soft pressure on his mouth that his mind wasn’t able to process.

Bill was kissing him.

Him.

What the _fuck_.

If his mind wasn’t on board with things, his body sure was as he gasped into the kiss and Bill took the opportunity to lazily slide his tongue over Dipper’s own, invading his mouth and practically counting the man's teeth one by one. The siren’s fingers ran through Dipper's hair and scraped his scalp, sending shivers up and down his back. Dipper’s own grip on Bill’s arms loosened and slid up gently to his shoulders, head tilting to the side while moving his lips against Bill’s softly. He breathed in Bill's scent.

He had somehow expected it to taste like fish, but instead was met with tasteless cold and freshwater.

His eyes snapped open — he hadn’t even noticed he had closed them — at the clear feeling of _actual_ water filling up his throat and lungs. He panicked, trying to push and kick Bill away, and while the siren did let him go, he didn’t do so without one last peck on the lips.

The siren’s arms fell on Dipper’s shoulders before Bill snorted inaudibly at him, one hand coming up to pinch his nose as he laughed.

Dipper took in a breath through his mouth.

He felt the water flow in, go down his windpipe and fill his lungs. It didn’t hurt. There was no burning or itching sensation, his vision wasn’t blacking out and he wasn’t choking, desperate for air.

He could breathe underwater.

Vaguely, he remembered a passage for his great uncle Ford’s journals:

_“… tales in various port towns depict a siren’s kiss to be able to give a sailor the ability to breathe underwater, as well as talk and understand marine wildlife. However, nobody has actually ever been kissed, so the point is moot.”_

_Well,_ he guessed, _I can verify_ that _one rumour true._

Meanwhile, Bill had let go of his nose, and instead put one finger over his lips in a sign to keep silent. The other hand slid down to Dipper’s hand, and he tugged him forward, turning around and swimming further down the pond. Dipper followed, his brain too fried to make a protest.

They swam deep within the pool to the point where light only weakly touched the tall algae resting at the bottom. Slowly as they went down, Dipper’s brain caught up to him.

Where were they going? There was a full-on battle going on over them!

Dipper tugged at the hand holding his own and at Bill’s questioning glance, he nodded upwards towards the surface and tried to swim up, dragging the siren with him. Bill simply scoffed and turned back around, hand squeezing Dipper’s in what the pirate hoped was reassurance that he knew what he was doing.

Bill suddenly changed directions, opting instead for a straight-forward swim than a dive. Dipper’s eyes widened as they entered a rock tunnel, dark like the abyss and hidden behind a wall of algae. The further they went, the further away they were from the mutiny raging on the surface, but Dipper felt his resolve harden. He could trust Bill, couldn’t he? Hadn’t he said so himself? This... Couldn't have been a passageway to the sea. Right?

Eventually, they came to an opening in the tunnel, and the siren tugged him upwards. They broke the surface and then it was as if the magic kiss Bill had given him wore off and Dipper spat out all the water in his system. It still didn’t hurt though. Instead, he took in a deep breath of actual air as they both floated in the water.

Bill still hadn’t let go of his hand, pulling him yet again towards what Dipper guessed looked like a rock shore. He pulled himself onto it, holding himself up by the arms as he gasped for breath before flopping over onto his back, panting. He stared straight up to the cavern ceiling. He made a noise of amazement in the back of his throat at the sight.

The rock itself was as black as obsidian, but sprinkled onto every surface were glowing shards of crystal emitting a light blue light. A closer look showed them as embedded into the rock, and they cast a soft shimmer onto the water surface as well as illuminating both his and Bill’s faces.

The siren himself hoisted himself up next to Dipper and lightly patted him on the cheek. He smiled down at the pirate, a soft smile unlike his usual grins or smirks, but there was still a glint of mischief in his eyes and even maybe anger if Dipper knew him well enough.

“You stay here, Pinetree,” Bill said, cupping Dipper’s face and making sure he was paying attention. “I’m just going to go take care of your little friends up there.”

With that, the siren promptly slid off the shore and dove back in the water, leaving Dipper alone in the cavern he guessed Bill had spent the last three days in. He frowned.

“What?” he asked, the sound of his voice lightly echoing on the cavern’s walls. He scrambled to up to a sitting position before diving in after the siren. “No!”

Bill had brought him here just so he could sit and do nothing? While his family and friends were risking their lives and fighting?!

It didn’t take long for Dipper to find his way out of the tunnel. Bill’s magic still seemed to work, and the cavern was only connected to just one passageway in and out. He did swim more slowly than the siren however, and just as he came up to the surface, Bill was already propped up on the shore by his arms, tail still underwater but clearly there for everyone else to see. Dipper could hear him start to sing, even underwater.

 _I've been watching your world from afar_  
_I've been trying to be where you are_  
_And I've been secretly falling apart  
Unseen_

Dipper broke the surface, gasping for air and spitting the water in his lungs once again. He saw Bill glance momentarily back at him, a frown gracing his face when he noticed the pirate. Behind him, the crew was frozen, all staring at Bill, most of them white in the face. _Probably because they had thought the siren had been dumped in the ocean the dumbasses_ , Dipper thought bitterly. They all still had their weapons in their hands, but none were moving, and Dipper breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that no one on _his_ side seemed injured or worse, dead.

 _To me, you're strange and you're beautiful_  
_You'd be so perfect with me_  
_But you just can't see  
You turn every head but you don't see me_

Bill turned back around, one last squint to Dipper before his frown cleared into a focused expression. Dipper watched as the siren’s muscles tensed, hands curling into balled fists as he straightened his back and held his chin up high, continuing on singing.

_I’ll put a spell on you._

Everybody dropped their weapons and started to sway on their own feet.

_You’ll fall asleep._

The crew fell to the ground, all thirteen of them. Dipper swam, alarmed, but Bill’s hand on his shoulder kept him from exiting the pond. He shot a scared look to the siren, switching back and forth between his friends and Bill, and the siren squeezed his shoulder.

“They’re just asleep, Pine Tree,” he said, and Dipper breathed a huge sigh of relief, muscles untensing as he suddenly felt like sleeping himself. They were safe. They had won. Mabel and Wendy and Soos and Grunkle Stan. Safe and sound and alive and they'd wake up soon to round up the mutineers...

"Thank you," he whispered, but Bill didn't seem to acknowledge it. Instead, Dipper's eyes started drooping, and he felt the siren gather him up in his arms, face pressing against Bill’s neck.

He started singing again.

_When I put a spell on you_

Dipper closed his eyes.

_And when I wake you I’ll be the first thing you see_

Dipper had already fallen asleep, gently being rocked back and forth by the siren, and so missed the last lyric of Bill’s song.

_And you’ll realize that you love me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google tells me "pederast" was a word for homosexual in the 1700s so yeah *shrugs*
> 
> Also, I'm going to be going back and re-editing the older chapters because there's a bunch of terms that are wrong and also I'm really bad at math. This chapter should be correct though, so any inconsistencies are actually not inconsistencies sorry ^^'


	14. Ending Summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This is copy-pasted from an answered ask on my tumblr @ marshonthemellow.tumblr.com]
> 
> ye I’m probably not going to update the fic anytime soon??? I’m really really REALLY sorry about that… Fandom’s kinda dead and also university (#ripme)

The ending I had planned involved Dipper and Bill  _somehow_  getting together (because I never managed to figure out how lmao) and cute fluff happened. Exhausted Dipper saying “fuck it” and straight up falling asleep in the pond with Bill, soaked to the bone, while Bill sings about his One True Love under the stars and moonlight because I am a DISGUSTING ROMANTIC SAP and everything.

But ANYWAYS, the  _plot_  was that Dipper would have to leave Bill in the pond for a few days while the Pines went out to explore the rest of the island but then LO AND BEHOLD Gideon has of course followed the Mystery Shack pirates to the island and finds Bill. He captures him and brings him back to his ship where he dumps him in a fairly sized aquarium in the Captain’s quarters? 

Then Bill overexerts himself by reaching out to Dipper via dreams. Dipper and the rest of his crew follow what directions Bill managed to tell them and stage an ambush attack to rescue Bill. It was going to be fairly EPIC with the mutineer half of the Mystery Shack crew having joined Gideon and wanting revenge and then Dipper dodging his way to the other side of the battlefield and breaking into the Captain’s quarters where he finds Bill in the aquarium (and maaaaaybe there was going to be a cheesy _touching-palms-through-the-glass_ moment, we will never know). Then Gideon (of course, the little shit) interrupts, and actually I’ve never decided whether I really wanted him dead or not, and whether it would Dipper or Mabel that would kill him if I did. But anyways, Dipper gets Bill out and kinda like… just dumps him overboard?? very anti-climactic I weep.

Bill manages to sing the enemy pirates from the beach and into the ocean Gideon’s ship was anchored in. Whether they just kinda fall asleep or get eaten by the rest of the sirens is honestly just up to your own taste really.

Then I have absolutely no idea what happens. All I know is that first there’s The Angst because Dipper has to leave the island someday but Bill isn’t about to spend the rest of his life in an aquarium on the Mystery Shack just to stay with Dipper (once was quite enough thank you), so Dipper prepares to leave the island and Bill behind despite both their broken hearts. But when Dipper and the rest of the crew row back to the Mystery Shack, the other sirens ambush them again but only so that they can give The Shovel Talk™ to Dipper on Bill’s behalf. And then Dipper more or less runs back to Bill (and that just sounds so cheesy when said like that but I assure you it’s a  _Very Emotional Scene_  *snort*) and “convinces” him (it doesn’t take a lot of arguing, let’s be honest here) to leave with him on many many pirate adventures (and instead of being kept trapped in an aquarium, Bill would just swim alongside the ship until they’d get to a small deserted island Bill could live in while Dipper goes off and does his thing. Sometime during the story Bill would’ve gotten a magical item allowing him to use his dream powers to communicate with Dipper even from really really far away???? maybe idk).

There was a rough idea of a sequel maybe happening (obviously not going to be anymore) with a fairly important Mabifica storyline (as in, a good 50-50 split between billdip and mabifica). Pacifica would’ve basically been Elizabeth Swann from Pirates of the Caribbean 1 except with more Honest And Good Communication and Talking About Feelings with Mabel. The billdip storyline would’ve started with Dipper loosing dream-contact with Bill for (to his knowledge) no reason at all so of course he panics and gets the crew to divert course to Bill’s island ASAP only to discover that the idiot made a deal with some other supernatural creature (I don’t remember who it was but it was basically the Gravity Falls version of Ursula from The Little Mermaid) to get legs in exchange for his dream powers (instead of his voice I guess). Then it’s basically just Dipper trying to teach Bill how to be a Proper Human™ and Bill not having it. 

OH AND ALSO I just now remembered Bill had some Tragic Backstory™ to be revealed. Basically he was born in a lake up north (AKA the good ol’ US of A) where he lived a pretty decent life until some human settlers started up a village on one of the banks. The humans started fishing in the lake, of course, making it hard for the sirens to hunt themselves. So it was rough for a while but the sirens made do and left the humans well enough alone. But then one day there was a little child playing on the beach while Bill (still quite young) was also playing nearby and so, trying to make friends, Bill started singing.

I think we all know what happens next.

The child, of course, drowns. The villagers, outraged and grieving, took their boats out and hunted the sirens down (they’d also sing and laugh sadistically while doing so because That’s How I Roll). Bill is the only survivor, and that’s because his parents managed to free him from capture (by literally overturning the boat because I swear the entire family has No Chill). They urged him to swim as fast as he could to where the lake flowed into a river (that led to the ocean) and Bill watched as his mother was killed right in front of him before the rapids took him down. 

He then spent months travelling southwards, eating what little he could scavenge and cowering in fear of every new creature he saw (because any of them could be a predator, especially the ones with the sharp teeth) until Tad found him and brought him to live with the colony. 

AND THAT’S ALL FOLKS

I think there were more plot holes/mysteries to be solved in the fic but fuck me if I can remember them. Just ignore them really. The fic’s like 2-3 years old now idk.


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